


Suited and Booted

by Moosegirl6



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Arya is basically running around stopping them form ruining everything, F/M, Gendry doesn't know what chinos are, Hell if anyone's going to prom, Heroes and Champions, High School, Modern AU, Prom?, Robb and Jon ride again, Sansa Deserves Better, absolute morons, and Prom?, and they're all definitely going to get a kick up the arse for this, and you wear suits to prom, because they're making him suitable, donalnoyes, except that's literally what this is building towards, hopefully she'll get it, oryss - Freeform, prom au, suited and booted, the cheesy prom movie with a ridiculous and only semi-believable plot AU, they shall go to the ball, why would he wear them?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 08:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19225735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosegirl6/pseuds/Moosegirl6
Summary: Based on oryss (previously donalnoyes) on tumblr's prompt 'The Cheesy Prom Movie With A Ridiculous & Only Semi-Believable Plot AU'"In which the Stark siblings have tried just about everything to break Sansa and Joffrey up and they’re getting desperate. Robb and Jon’s last resort is enlisting their reluctant friend Gendry - handsome, nice, and pretty much a perfect foil to Joffrey - to woo Sansa and take her to prom.The brothers insist that all Gendry has to do is get a haircut, come into possession of a few preppy shirts, remember the titles of a couple of Sansa’s favourite songs, and pretend to care about cheerleading well enough that Sansa dumps Joffrey and falls for him instead. Luckily, the other Stark sister, Arya, is on board, ready to help shape Gendry into a boy worthy of taking her sister to prom - which means overseeing his haircuts, raiding her brothers’ closets with him, taking him record shopping, and teaching him how to be a convincing suitor for Sansa.On his long list of reservations about this plan, Gendry didn’t account for falling for the wrong Stark sister."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on donalnoyes' AUs on tumblr, and written with permission. Go to their tumblr to see more excellent AUs. 
> 
> I have only written 5 chapters of this so far, so this will be a WIP for a while, sorry!

**Chapter 1**

“Sansa!”

Arya’s voice rang through the house, chasing the footsteps running upstairs. It was closely followed by the slamming of a door.

“Sansa, will you please open the door! I didn’t mean it like that! You know I didn’t!”

“Go away, Arya!”

“Eugh!”

The walls shook as a second door slammed. Something crashed and something else thumped to the ground.

The two boys still sat on the sofa downstairs looked at each other, both trying to look calm and in control and both failing miserably. Robb patted the arms of his chair, breathing deeply. His face was still flushed red and his jaw tight. He opened his mouth to speak, but his cousin was there first.

“No, Robb.”

“But they need us!” His hands slammed down onto the arms of the chair, only just missing the twitching tale of his hound, Grey Wind who was sat curled but attentive on his lap. The animal curled into a tighter ball, but his ears were still raised, awaiting the threat to his master.

Jon by contrast hadn’t moved more than the few facial muscles needed to scowl. He watched as his cousin expressed himself through flailing limbs. He eventually ended with hands tangled in his hair, turning his usually sleek red mop into something far more like their youngest brother’s tangled mane.

“Are you done?” Jon wasn’t smiling, but he might as well have been, the look he was giving. Robb scowled at him.

“No.” He kicked out at the cushion near his feet, still sitting where it had landed earlier. Sansa’s temper may have been sharp, but at least she had the good sense to throw something soft.

Jon took a deep breath of his own. He was normally the quiet one of the two, and had been silent for the past few minutes, but Robb would go bounding into the middle of things if he didn’t speak up now.

“Leave her be, you know how Sansa gets,” Robb looked like he wanted to interject so he carried on quickly, “She needs time to stew before she listens to sense.”

“But she _isn’t_ listening to sense, that’s the problem!”

Grey Wind jumped a little at the outburst, but Robb didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on the stairs behind Jon. They could hear music coming from Sansa’s room now, a sure sign that she was upset, and in all likelihood, crying into a pillow. Jon glanced upwards as well, before smiling sadly at Robb.

“And shouting at her isn’t going to do much.”

Robb scoffed and kicked at the cushion again. Scowling, he muttered, “I wasn’t going to _shout_ at her.”

“Just tell her that she _is_ a fool, and _does_ need to grow up? Come on, I thought she was going to punch Arya when she said that.”

Jon’s lips were twitching into a smile, but Robb’s frown just deepened.

“We have to do _something_.”

“Yes, we can be reasonable people, and let Sansa come to her sense _on her own_.”

Robb’s hands were fists now, “But what if it takes too long? What if that little twat does something awful before that happens?”

Jon didn’t reply. He tried not to say too much where Sansa’s boyfriend was concerned. The younger boy had not exactly been welcomed into the Stark family. With his smug face and indifference for their oldest sister, they had been reluctant to make a space for him at the table, a source of great grief for Sansa who saw nothing wrong in her detached beau.  
The source of the trouble that evening had been Arya asking about Prom. Joffrey hadn’t asked yet, and Sansa couldn’t be more on edge about it. A few more typical stumbling comments and Arya had Sansa screaming at her.

Robb looked at his cousin. They were more than a little used to the girls fighting, and when they did it happened quicker than lightning, but usually they made up just as quickly. The music still thumped above.

“What we really need is to show Sansa just how awful Joffrey is.”

“And what? Have her bite our heads off? Arya didn’t say two words before Sansa was started shouting.”

“No, not tell her, _show_ her.” Robb was smiling now, one hand calming running across Grey Wind’s fur. Jon frowned. More than once he had followed one of Robb’s ridiculous plans only to end up with nothing but wisdom to show for it.

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, half the reason she’s so enamoured with Joffrey is because he’s a boy who has shown her some affection, right?”

“That’s a bit of patronising, but sure.”

“So what if someone else showed some interest, someone better?”

“This is starting to stray into meddling territory.”

“Come on, Jon, we have to accept that to properly help Sansa we can’t stand at the sidelines, we have to fully dive into meddling and sort this out.”

“By finding her a new boyfriend?”

“Yes. Someone better, someone who isn’t a complete toad, but is totally in love with her and also a good guy.”

“And how are we going to conjure up someone like that?”

“Who says we need to conjure. I’m thinking more _persuade_.”

Jon let out a groan and rolled his head back against the sofa cushions, “This is going to get complicated.”

“Sure,” Robb shrugged, grinning, “but it’ll be for the good of everyone.”

Jon didn’t reply, he was too busy rolling his eyes. Robb always loved to be dramatic.

“So, do I have your approval to go ahead and meddle?” he set his cousin with a hard stare, pretending that was all he needed.

“Fuck it, why not?”

He punched the air in victory

“What do you want me to do?”

Robb grinned.

-

“You know, this might be the most predatory thing we’ve ever done. Including when dad took us hunting last year.” Jon mumbled into his lunch-tray. Robb had grabbed him before he could head to his usual table and pulled him over to the table nearest the door. The red plastic was less scratched, and there were fewer ominous stains, but every few seconds the door opened and a cold wind blew over them. Jon’s curly fries had gone stone cold minutes after sitting down. He scowled down at the congealed basket of starch.

“Shush,” Robb waved a hand at him, staring out across the hall. He hadn’t said explicitly why he had dragged Jon away from his friends and onto the table of eternal winter, but the intensity of his gaze could only mean one thing.

Stage 1.

“Any possibilities catching your eye?”

“What’s the criteria?”

Robb whispered, and Jon responded in kind. Even with the cafeteria at its loudest mid-lunch-rush they still didn’t feel like they should speak too loudly.

“Decent,” Robb said after a lengthy pause, “Not an idiot, not a known creep, relatively mature” he considered for a second, scanning the room. Jon mentally eliminated about half of the males in the room, “Doing okay academically, can carry a conversation.”

“High bar.”

“Look, we’re not picking her soulmate, we’re just looking for someone interesting enough to turn her head to better things, okay?”

Jon sighed, but nodded. He wasn’t as sold out on the plan as Robb was, but he could at least see the logic. Introduce Sansa to someone half-decent, give her a confidence boost, and while she’s distracted do some big brother voodoo to scare off Joffrey. It should have been easy, but this was day two of trying to choose someone to throw in their sister’s path. Surprisingly, nonchalantly dropping her into conversation with their single friends hadn’t paid off. (Or at least Robb had been surprised, Jon had had no faith in that plan at all. He wouldn’t have said he had much faith in this one either, though.)

Robb tossed the first name in the ring,

“Olly?”

Jon laughed before he turned to look at Robb and realised he wasn’t joking. He shook his head, incredulous, “Olly the freshman? Olly who skipped ninth grade? Thirteen year old Olly?” Sometimes Jon had no idea what was going on behind those curls.

“Hm, good point.” Robb nodded. “What about your friend, er, the one with the acne?”

Jon followed Robb’s gaze to his usual table. Gren was in the middle of telling the others a story, no doubt some exaggerated nonsense about he didn’t fully believe himself.

“He’s decent but there’s no way Sansa’d put up with his bullshit. I thought you wanted someone pretty, someone to ‘turn her head’. Hey, Ned Dayne?” He nodded towards the captain of the junior lacrosse team.

“Little Ned Dayne who can’t keep his eyes to himself? No he spends enough time hanging around Arya, I don’t want to invite him anywhere nearer to her than he has to be.”

They watched as little Ned Dayne waved at their youngest sister with a massive grin on his face, Arya was tucked into the corner of the room on a full table made up of people Jon didn’t recognise. She glanced at Ned and gave him a quick ‘sup’ nod before going back to pretending to listen to the boy in front of her. Jon could see the vacant glaze from across the room.

“Arya doesn’t mind him though, and that could be a good incentive to him too; play nice for this and get in her good books.” Jon was still watching Arya’s friend jiggle his way through his story. He seemed unaware that his audience of one was not paying the slightest bit of attention.

“This isn’t a joke, Jon.” Robb snapped. His glower was so reminiscent of his father’s Jon smile slipped off his face quicker than Bran slipped out of awkward conversations.

“This is hopeless,” Robb grumbled, “Maybe we should just ask Theon.”

“Do you want me to kick you in the balls now, save Sansa doing it for you in a week?”

“Well who else is there?” Robb sighed, reaching across to take one of Jon’s remaining curly fries, his own tray sitting empty. He bit into it and pulled a face, “these are disgusting. You’d think for all the money the parents give to this place they’d work out how to cook a half-decent plate of fries.”

“Hey,” Jon turned suddenly, “what about that scholarship kid?”

“There are no scholarships here, Jon,” Robb deadpanned, “just ‘underprivileged children with generous benefactors’.”

Jon rolled his eyes, “Well what about that underprivileged kid on the football team? The line-backer.” He nodded to the boy in question, only now queueing up for food.

“Waters? He _is_ a sophomore, and he’s never been anything but civilised when I’ve spoken to him.”

“He’s a good guy, remember when he took that hit for Pyp last month? Could have gotten hurt pretty bad.”

“Yeah, okay. As best of a bad lot goes, he doesn’t seem too awful.”

“I’m sure your sister will be thrilled with that assessment.”

Robb looked for a second like his conviction was faltering. Then he slapped a hand on the table, “No, he’s a fine pick. Good work. Now how are we going to do this?”

-

“Any plans for the weekend?”

Gendry jumped at the question, his grip on the towel tightening. As a rule, the post-practice locker-room was reserved for a few slaps on the butt and maybe an insecure joke or two. It was not the place for casual conversation.  
But, he supposed, this was not a casual conversation.  
Gendry had been casual friends with Jon long enough to see how his family worked. At home they seemed to be a tangle of boisterous competition, but at school they were more distant, giving each other enough space so they didn’t become just one Stark blob. Even when playing on the same team, Jon and Robb had managed to keep a bit of a distance. But if seeing two Starks in one place was rare enough, seeing them on either side you was downright unnerving.  
Jon was looking at Gendry inquisitively. He was fully dressed by now, wet hair slicked back, not a trace of the mud and sweat that had smothered him less than ten minutes ago. Robb on the other hand – and Gendry’s other side – was still stinking to high heaven.

“Uh- I – er-” Gendry stammered, unsure of what they wanted to hear, “some plans, maybe, not sure.”

“So nothing set in stone? Good.” Robb nodded. Gendry blinked as some mud flicked off the end of those red glossy locks. He just hoped it hadn’t landed on his face.

“Why’s that?” Gendry asked, looking between the two boys. He tugged at his towel a little, pulling it higher just to reassure himself nothing bad was about to happen.

“Well,” Jon began, throwing a quick look to Robb who looked eager to speak, “We were wondering if you could help us with something.”

“Like homework or something?”

“Not exactly.” Jon leant forward and Gendry got a good whiff of his deodorant. It was a little more flowery than he would have expected. “Look, if you’re free tomorrow do you mind meeting us at the mall? We’ll explain properly there, it’s just there’s maybe one too many waiting ears around here.” He nodded to the bench on the other side of the room where the Seconds were peeling their stinking kit off. Other than them it was just the water boy, Lommy, stacking knee pads in a box for the supply cupboard.  
But Robb was frowning too now, and they were both looking at him so intently that it could only be a matter of the utmost secrecy. Gendry nodded,

“Yeah, tomorrow’s fine.”

“Excellent. Ten o’clock, Taco Bell. See you there.”

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

“Is this him, then?”

Jon turned around and immediately scowled. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard from a little birdy that you two numbskulls had come up with an ingenious plan to rid our sweet sister of her scourge, thought I’d come and see how badly it’s going.” She stood with her nose in the air and her hands on her hips, and hoped she looked aloof and not like a bad superhero. “Also Hot-Pie doesn’t finish work for another hour so I haven’t got anything better to do.” She added with a wink at Gendry. “So, how’s it going?” she sat down on the seat vacated by her brother, and crossed her legs underneath her. “Ooh, maybe not peach?” she scrunched her face up when Robb turned the corner with an armful of shirts.

“Arya! What are you doing here?” Robb was more startled than upset. He had definitely told her they were going hiking, how had she tracked them here?

“Giving some much needed advice apparently. Sansa has always hated plaid. And she says polka dots are for toddlers,” her face sunk into a scowl, much like her cousins beside her, “or at least they were when she threw away my favourite t-shirt.”

“I mean what are you doing in the men’s changing rooms?” he shot her a look that was so remarkably like their mother Arya felt a chill run down her spine.

“Hanging out.” She ignored his exasperated sigh as she clambered up off the sofa and began picking through the hangers in his arms. “No to all of these racer vests, they’re awful creations that even Sansa won’t pretend to like. No jeans, these will be too short and on no plane of existence does a girl want to see their potential love interest in shorts like these, I don’t care if he has calves for days, it’s still a no.” she spoke quickly so her eldest brother didn’t have a chance to come back with any of his nonsense about ‘some people can carry off unusual styles’. The lime Bermuda shorts look bad on everyone, Robb. Good grief.

“You have too many opinions.” He stuck his lip out as Arya tugged clothes away from him with careless abandon.

“I’m right though, aren’t I? You agree, don’t you Gendry?” she turned and shot him with a giant grin. Up until that point in time he hadn’t known that she knew his name.

“Er- Hi. Nice to meet you.” He half raised a hand in awkward greeting.

“We’ve met.” She nodded, giving the briefest of smiles.

“Have we?” his brow crinkled in confusion.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a great first impression, I don’t blame you for forgetting. Why are you holding that?” without breaking pace she span around to glare at Robb.

He looked down at the lone shirt still slung over his arm, a red and white striped button down, “Because it’s sort of nice.”

“Hmm.” Arya crossed her arms and gave him an appraising look, lingering long enough on the shirt to make her feelings clear.

Robb huffed, and tipped his head back. He looked like he was already on the brink of pinching the bridge of his nose like a dramatic movie college professor unappreciated for their genius, “What do you think of it then, oh wise counsellor?”

“I think you just need some braces and a couple of badges and he’s all ready for his shift at TGI Fridays.” She made sure to keep eye contact with Robb just to see how bright a shade of red he turned. (Champagne Vinegar on the Dulux colour chart. Disappointing.)

There was a snuffling noise behind Arya that from Robb’s sharp look she guessed was muffled laughter. Jon chuckled, “I think we should just leave her to it, Robb. It’s almost lunch time anyway.”

“Hey! No! I didn’t come here to do your dirty work!” Arya span, enjoying the effect in the mirrors of her skirt spinning around her knees, her hair flicking theatrically over her shoulders.

Robb threw up his hands “Then why are you here?”

She glared at his reflection, “As was previously said, Hot-Pie’s not off work until twelve, and I have already re-gained the top score on Sharp Shooter.”

“What? I spent a week trying to get that!” Gendry cried. He was stuck on a podium like a knock-off Ken doll while someone else was beating his well-earned high score? Outrageous.

“That was you?” Arya laughed, “I honestly almost fell over in shock when I saw it. Nobody’s even come close for months.” She looked at him up and down, taking in the navy suit, the terrible shirt, the blush spreading across his cheeks (Cherry Tomatoes. Nice.)

“Yeah, well I had some spare time.” He shrugged, starting to look like he would rather not be in Arya Stark’s line of sight.

“Is that how they got you to agree to this nonsense? Nothing better to do with your time?”

Gendry didn’t say anything, but his face lifted into a shy smile as he shrugged that let Arya know she wasn’t far off.

“Gendry agreed because he saw the sense in such a plan.” Robb had emptied his arms of any clothing and come to stand beside Jon at the side of the sofa in what he surely saw as a show of solidarity.

“And because they bought me a Mega-Shake.” Gendry chipped in helpfully. He was still a little bit pink, but his little smile hadn’t quite disappeared yet.

Arya gasped, “The one with the triple swirl?! I’ve been trying to get someone to buy me that for ages!” she scowled at the two boys before her, one looking entirely amused, the other full of misplaced pride. 

“You know you can buy things for yourself, right?” Jon raised his eyebrows at her.

“I know, but it just tastes so much better when it comes out of someone else’s pocket.”

“Can confirm.” Gendry nodded.

Arya snorted, unable to keep the scowling up, “You’re so easy. You must be a cheap date.” She shook her head at him.

He held his hands up, the glittering shirt cuff catching the light, “A couple of Sharp Shooter tokens and I’m all yours.”

“Or all Sansa’s. Actually she really doesn’t like the arcade she’s more- No!” The others jumped when Arya stamped her foot on the carpet, “I am not helping with this.” She held a scolding finger out.

“Why though? Is it really any better letting them work it out themselves?” Robb asked. He imagined himself to be persuasive, Arya was sure. It wasn’t working.

“Yes. It absolutely is.” It wasn’t, but she couldn’t admit Robb was right when he was this smug.

Jon looked at her, “Arya.”

His knowing tone made her sigh. She could only hide so much from him.

“Maybe it’s because it’s beneath my dignity? Because I trust that eventually Sansa will come to her senses? Because I’m sort of looking forward to punching Joffrey in the face?” She screwed her face up so she wouldn’t have to see her cousin’s face. Jon always knew when she was lying. “It doesn’t matter anyway because I do not want to spend my Saturday picking out chinos and pastel shirts.”

“Chinos, you say?” Robb rubbed at the scrap of stubble he called a beard.

Arya groaned.

“What’s your price?”

Arya turned very slowly towards the questioner. She folded her arms and bit her lip very hard to stop herself smiling at her cousin.

“Excuse me?”

“Everyone has a price. What is it going to take for you to help deck Gendry out?”

Arya was silent for a second. She turned to observe the boy in question. He was fiddling with the buttons his jacket (Velvet. Purple. An abomination).

“Shotgun for the next month, two doughnuts per hour for the rest of the time we’re here, and,” she turned so that she was looking directly into the eyes of the main genius who had brought them all to this point, trying not to roll her eyes at the smug smile spreading across his stupid Champagne Vinegar face, “a Mega-Shake.”

-

Gendry was nervous. Quite rightly, it seemed judging from the expression on Arya’s face, but a six-foot football player of usually bold character quivering at a clothing rack must have been quite a sight. Jon and Robb had disappeared to brainstorm conversation topics, apparently, although both had left with looks of relief and sympathy. Gendry had taken a deep breath, expecting orders, but instead she had swept him silently out of the changing rooms and into a completely different shop. The silence was making him twitchy.

“Right,” Arya clapped her hands together, dragging his attention away from the overwhelming number of possibilities around them, “we need to change you into one of those preppy football guys. You already have the football, now you need the prep.” She was smiling, but it was more like a predator smiling at their prey than anything reassuring or friendly. He gulped nervously, but Arya carried on speaking, “Which is a real shame actually, because I’m all about the grunge,” she smirked at him, “You are pretty much exactly my type, actually. You just need a leather jacket and a sad backstory and I’m all yours. You sure you want to commit to this plan, and don’t just want to bunk off and go play Sharp Shooter?”

The option dangled in front of him like the most delicious carrot in front of a starving donkey, but Gendry was not a man to break promise. As enticing as Sharp Shooter with Arya was, he had a job to do. He met her gaze and did his best not to blush too much,

“Er – Best not, right?” he grinned awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Excellent! First test passed,” Arya beamed at him. He was taken aback by how quickly she had shifted tone, but she didn’t give him much time to adjust, “Honourable gentlemen do not ride off into the sunset with your sister. Ever.”

“I don’t have a sister.” He heard himself saying, stupidly. To her credit, she didn’t roll her eyes or make fun, just spoke plainly and swiftly. Moving Forward, always on task.

“Not _your_ sister, the sister of the person to whom you will be the honourable gentleman, namely, Sansa.”

Gendry frowned, but he was finally enjoying himself, “That was ambiguously phrased.”

Arya gave him a firm look, “You’re getting slowly less and less attractive with each word that comes out of your mouth.”

“There seems to be a disproportionate amount of meanness coming from you.”

A threatening finger was held up in his direction, “If that’s a small joke I will kill you.”

“Exactly like that,” Gendry carried on, ignoring the death glare, “how do you have the balls to threaten people like that? You’re so delicate.”

“Ha! Fuck you.” She brushed hair out of her face and stood to her full height, “’Delicate’ can suck my salty balls. I am small but mighty.”

Gendry found he couldn’t disagree, “Yes ma’am.”

“Look, just fucking pick something, okay? I’ll tell you if it’s shit, and then we can move on to more important things. You probably only need one or two things anyway, and it’s not even like you have to pay for it.” She spoke quickly, and turned from the smirking boy to wrinkle her nose at the row of pastel shirts. They were exactly the sort of preppy thing Sansa would love, apparently.

“No?” Gendry was still hesitant. He picked up a price tag and winced. More than a week’s salary.

“No, Robb’s got dad’s credit card. We’re living it large today, my friend.”

He looked at her, taken aback, “Why would your dad just give him his credit card?” His father would never dream of doing that for him. But then, there were probably many things Ned Stark did that his father would never do. Speak to him, for one.

Arya shrugged, turning to face the clothes. “Robb said he was going to pick up a suit for Prom – oh!”

She froze, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

“I take back what I just said,” she bit her lip and settled her eyes on Gendry. This did nothing to stop him feeling worried. Well quite right too, this was no time for calm, “this might not actually be that easy.”

“If I wasn’t worried before-“

“You should be now. Don’t worry,” Arya grinned quickly, brushing aside whatever else was clearly on her mind, “It would be a lot worse if the Tweedle Dumbs were here, but with me you are in safe hands.”

Gendry snorted, “Whatever you say.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jon turned up with a bag of doughnuts when Gendry was half-dressed and they were in the middle of what he hoped was their worst argument of the day.

“Just put the fucking thing on, you don’t have to marry it!”

“No, if I put it on you’ll have an opinion on it, and I’ve had enough of your opinions. That’s how I’ve ended up with _three_ polo shirts! I’m not a Republican going golfing!”

“Don’t complain, they are exactly what we’re looking for! Get your head in the game, Gendry, this isn’t your Grandma’s picnic, we’re on a mission! You can’t just wear anything to Prom!”

In another life Arya would be an incredible high school football coach. She was focused, motivated, and tirelessly angry. As it was, Jon was grateful she had no interest whatsoever in their games.

Gendry opened his mouth to respond, but Jon could see Arya’s face in the mirror and decided an intervention was needed,

“I come bearing deep-fried goods.”

Arya span to face him, “Thank fuck, your moron friend won’t do what’s good for him.” She marched over and took the bag from him, showering the sugar over the floor as she shoved a greasy doughnut hole in her mouth.

“I just don’t want to add a cummerbund to this,” Gendry gestured to himself, appealing to Jon with the look of a man far past his limit, “because I know I’ll look like a dick.”

“You’d look like less of a dick if you did your shirt up.” Jon suggested, speaking before Arya had time to swallow.

Gendry sighed and shook his head, the picture of defiance, “No, because that is one step closer to what she wants, and she is a terrifying mistress.”

“I am firm but I get results. Jon, tell him to stop being a dick.” Arya turned to her cousin,

“Jon, do you mind taking your sister back where she came from?”

“What? Back to the land of the properly dressed, Mr. I’ve-never-seen-a-tie-before?”

“More like back to the American Girl store.”

“I’m going to fucking-“

“I’m so glad you two are getting along.” Jon sighed. Arya ignored him.

“-kill you, you are not in charge, do as you’re told, pal.”

Despite appearances, Jon could see that they were genuinely getting along. Neither one looked truly tormented, and there was a smile behind the insults. Arya had flicked her hair over her shoulder and back again three times in the space of a few minutes and Gendry kept huffing in a way that told Jon he was trying to disguise laughter.

“What’s this outfit meant to be for?”

“Rock-climbing.” Arya rolled her eyes at Gendry, stepping forward to offer him a doughnut.

“I probably shouldn’t, in case this gets ruined. Especially,” he added, seeming unable to help himself, “since I’m not getting it anyway.”

“You’re not, dad is, shut up and eat a doughnut, Second-Place.”

Gendry took one, shaking his head, but the talk of money shut him up. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for their father to do, leave his card with one of them when they needed to purchase something big and expensive, but Gendry was frowning at Arya like she had mentioned he was offering to sell a kidney for them.  
Jon knew that Gendry wasn’t rich, hence the scholarship, but he had never wanted to talk about money with him. It just made things awkward reminding people that the Starks were rolling in it.

Jon coughed, and changed the subject as quickly as he could,

“Since Prom has been mentioned, are you going to get a dress or something?”

Arya looked up at him in disgust.

“I’m _not_ going to Prom.”

“What? Why not?” Jon had the audacity to look confused. Arya gave him an exaggerated huff before answering.

“Who would I go with? Hot-Pie? I don’t exactly fancy hanging off you lot all night, and I’m not likely to get any offers worth considering,” She spoke quickly enough it would be easy not to notice the slight flush on her cheeks, “Plus, it would mean having to buy all the fancy Sansa-things that you know I hate.”

“But Sansa would love it. She’d do your hair and everything.”

Arya swallowed the last of her doughnut and turned so she was looking at her cousin full in the face. She fixed him with a look that made him regret his last sentence.

“If this is you trying to convince me, Jon, then you have never known me. Why the fuck would I want my hair done?”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back dramatically, “Just go and look at something pretty, okay? We need something else to justify all the money we’re going to spend here anyway.”

“I don’t think dad would be too happy if I bought a hundred dollar dress ‘just in case’.” She was clutching at straws and she knew it.

“I think dad would buy you three hundred-dollar-dresses if you asked him, just go. Shoo. And come back with at least two option so we can spin you around the podium and make you feel as uncomfortable as we’ve been making Gendry feel all day.” He threw in a laugh for the last, but she knew he wasn’t speaking entirely in jest.

She folded her arms, still standing her ground, “What about you?”

“What about me? I’m wearing my suit from homecoming.”

“Eugh, how come boys can put no effort in and nobody cares?”

“Arya.” Jon was scowling at her properly now, in a seriously-please-just-do-it sort of way that always got her to listen, “Stop stalling and go.”

She glared, she groaned, but finally she turned towards the women’s section. She may be fierce but she knew when a fight was lost. “Do something useful while I’m gone at least,” she said finally.

Jon nodded obligingly. From the look she sent over his shoulder he presumed Gendry had waved but knew he couldn’t turn to look without ruining his firm-older-brother look.  
“Sure.” He smiled and nodded. He waited until she was around the corner before turning to Gendry, now collapsed onto the bench, biting into another doughnut. “Do you want a coffee with that?”

-

Arya ran her fingers through the soft fabrics, feeling the chiffon and wishing she didn’t like it so much. She wasn’t like Sansa; there was no way anyone was asking her to Prom. The thought of her sister spinning happily in her dress (blue, knee-length, a little bit of sparkle) made her stomach twist uncomfortably. For a few blissful hours she had forgotten that there was such a thing as Prom. Now all she could see was her sister standing in the living room in her brand new dress, looking like someone had taken a sledgehammer to her self-esteem. Arya wished she hadn’t opened her damned mouth.

She stopped at a short green strapless number. On the model it was inappropriately small, but as Gendry had so astutely pointed out, Arya was shorter than average. She pulled her size from the rack, along with a bright yellow one she thought might make her cousin laugh.

Gendry was in his own clothes again when Arya returned.

“Those had better not be for me.” He was pulling an exaggeratedly fearful face, but the glimmer of real fear tickled Arya. Oh, to have such power on everyone.

She laughed, draping some of the skirt fabric over his shoulder, “Oh, I don’t know. I think Green might be your colour. It would complement your eyes well.”

He looked appraisingly at it, “Sure. My eyes are blue, but sure.”

“I said complement, not match,” She rolled her eyes and swept the skirt back over her arm, “But it’s nice to see the correct attitude has been restored. Did we have a little chat?”

“We had a few minutes peace more like.”

“Actually,” Jon cut across what was sure to be more trading of insults, “we were planning for this afternoon’s mission.”

“What’s in store for this afternoon?” Arya called as she crossed to the nearest curtained stall. She tried not to laugh as she saw the two dresses hung up beside each other.

“Educating on some topics of conversation, big likes and dislikes, things that she can really go on about.”

“That’s a good idea.” Arya nodded, thoughtfully. They were definitely going to need her input on some of that. The boys still seemed to think their sister listened to boybands and Disney soundtracks.

“Plus I think he might need a haircut.”

“No!” Arya called urgently, spinning around. She flushed when she realised just how loudly she had shouted, “I mean, no, his hair is the right sort of length, he just needs to brush it and maybe use a bit of conditioner. Just focus on giving him something to talk to Sansa about other than Geography homework.” She squinted at Jon, eyeing them as though she deeply doubted they had anything more significant to talk about other than homework or football.

Jon gave her a salute, “Yes ma’am. Now are you going to try those on today or shall we wait until they chuck us out?”

“Fine, fine.” She rolled her eyes as she pulled the curtain closed.

 Jon did in fact laugh at the yellow dress. Arya flounced out and span around the mirror room like a model at a catwalk show and had the two boys in stitches. Jon took a picture for Sansa, and got a full page of crying laughter emojis back.

“So maybe not this one, then?” Arya looked between the two boys on the sofa, hands pressed to her face in distress.

“No, maybe not.” Jon shook his head, still laughing, “Did you get any others?”

“Yeah, but nothing to match the glory of this,” she twisted the tulle around her hand, “It’s sort of like candy floss, isn’t it?”

“I was thinking it’s like,” Gendry considered for a moment and then seemed to throw caution to the wind, “you know when the cheerleaders are all spinning in the air and it’s a bit of mayhem, but then they shake their pom-poms and you’re sufficiently distracted from any mistakes because, ‘hey,  pretty girl is shaking something shiny at you!’ It’s sort of like that.”

Arya snorted, and grabbed a handful of skirt, ruffling it in his direction, “Go Wolves!”

“Well, that’s definitely distracting.” Jon muttered, frowning at her.

Arya laughed, “Okay, well this next one is meant to be taken seriously. What a calming forest glade is to the excitement of a cheerleader’s dance.”

“So you look like a tree?” Gendry wrinkled his nose, and tilted his head. Jon snorted, but turned it into a cough when Arya glared at him.

“Hopefully a nice tree.” She rolled her eyes again, wondering if she would have explored every crevice of her eyelids before the day was out. Good grief. She picked up her skirts and flounced back into the changing room, ignoring the sniggering behind her.

When she pulled the curtain open the second time, the reaction was quieter.

She ran her hands over the front of the skirt, brushing the wrinkles out, but really buying time before she had to look at five versions of herself.

“Well? Nice tree?” she asked with a chuckle. She felt her heart fluttering in the following silence. 

And then Gendry smiled,

“Very nice tree. I like the –er – leaves.” He nodded to the detailing that ran around the bodice.

Arya laughed, and swept her arms up so they could see it in full. She took a few more steps out of the cubicle so she was fully in the light.

Jon was frowning, “Bit short, though.”

Arya scoffed, “Not really, it’s knee length,” she stepped up to the mirrors and saw herself spin around in a surprisingly light satin. She tried to look at it from a protective big brother’s point of view and could see some difficulty with the low back, but the hemline was more than appropriate. She span back to face them, hands on her hips, ready to face Jon’s disapproval.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she found that she couldn’t quite deal with at the precise moment in time, not with Gendry sitting there too, so she cut him off before he could,

“And it’s not like I’m wearing it out anyway, it’s a ‘just in case’, isn’t it?”

He considered for a second, before nodding, “Hm. Fine. Get dressed, and we’ll pay for this lot,” he glanced down at his phone, and Arya glanced towards Gendry who was still watching her, silently, “Robb texted and sounds pretty bored.”

She stepped down and away from the mirrors, giving him a firm salute before turning back to the dressing room,

“Yessir.”


	4. Chapter 4

Some people laugh at the sight of the behemoth that is Winterfell Town Mall’s Mega-Shake, thinking it a novelty item on Mr. T’s menu. The health-conscious might look at the two doughnuts, fresh from the fryer, glistening golden as they sink into the cloud of hand-whipped cream, and have to turn away. Some naïve beings look at the small words printed next to its picture and think that ‘1 gallon’ must be an exaggeration.   
And then are people - reckless, maverick, insane, dangerously ambitious - who look at the sauce dripping and think how beautifully it falls: through the sprinkles, over the pineapple chunks, forcing its way down between the marshmallows, dancing around the dipping dots, surfing on fruit loops. They see the option to add another scoop of ice-cream and think ‘yes, I _must_ ’. They choose mint chocolate chip because only a fool would go for the bubble-gum when there are full sized gob-smackers already in the jar. They thank the bemused worker - the one slightly sweating, hands shaking, somehow still smiling - and this person holds their mega-shake up like a champion.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Jon’s voice was not a welcome interrupting into Arya’s moment. The blessed thing was in her hands and he couldn’t just let her enjoy it? She scowled at him,

“Savouring it.”

“It’ll melt.”

“The moment won’t.”

“Just come and sit down, we’ve got work to do.” He turned away before she could answer, reaching for the pencil and paper in front of him, a sheet full of scribbles that Arya was certain was ninety-percent nonsense.

“You know, I reckon the Cafe On The Corner does a better shake than that.” Gendry nodded to the glass bowl Arya was holding in front of her face. She didn’t put it down immediately, preferring to see his distorted image than be faced with the cold reality.

“Excuse you? Why does everyone want to ruin this for me.”

“Because if this is the best, then you are living a sad life. Honestly, go to the Café and ask Mott to do a double supreme freak-shake and you basically get that without the store-bought gumdrops or runny ice-cream.”

“All Ice-cream is runny.”

“Yeah, but it should run smooth, not split like it’s having an existential crisis.”

“Why do you know so much about ice-cream?”

“I used to work for Mott.”

“Really? Did you wear the hats? It is that place that has the hats isn’t it? Not The Other Place.”

“No, The Other Place is up the street by the park and they go for more of a hipster vibe. Little to no tolerance for silliness and excessive enjoyment.”

“Duly noted. I’ll hold you to your word on the freak-shake, but maybe I’ll wait a week or so before getting one, you know, give my pancreas a chance.”

Gendry laughed, “Sure, let me know when you’re ready to be blown away.”

“Speaking of being ‘blown away’, are we ready for your top tips on how to talk to Sansa?”

Arya turned to her brother who looked away quickly. Jon coughed and shuffled his papers again.

“What?” She looked between the two of them, now both staring resolutely anywhere but at her, “Is it that bad a list? I knew you two couldn’t be trusted.”

“No, no, it’s a fair list. Ahem,” Robb turned to Gendry, leaning forward across the table to look him directly in the eye, “What do you already know about handbags?”

Gendry glanced from a stern Robb to Jon, who just shrugged.

Arya just slowly sipped at her milkshake. This would be a long afternoon.

-

Arya’s phone rang, mercifully, at half five.

The food court had closed around them, and more than one cleaner had swept past them with a pointed look.

More significantly, they had reached a point in the conversation where it became abundantly clear that neither Jon nor Robb knew very much about their younger sister, and that if they were not related to her, there would be very little chance they would ever acknowledge each other. Arya had sat back and refused to offer any helpful advice,

“I have already done a full day’s work and received my payment for it. You cannot dupe me into helping you. Now, tell us, what do you think Sansa’s favourite Disney film is?”

She leant forwards across the table in anticipation. Jon had moments ago failed the test, having shrugged and thrown out, “Frozen?” before turning his attention back to the crossword he thought nobody knew he was doing under the table. 

Robb had lines across his forehead, and his hands curled into fists, “It can’t be a trick question, surely.”

He looked between Arya in all of her smugness and Gendry, sitting and trying not to ask too many questions (not just because Arya was doing enough of that). He had never yet asked a girl about her favourite Disney film, and wasn’t convinced that it would be something he would want to bring up to attract an intelligent, multi-faceted young woman, but Arya had insisted. Gendry thought that might be because she had wanted to give them a twelve minute explanation of why her favourite was Mulan, and why that Absolutely Mattered, more than because she believed it relevant to their plot. He found himself smiling a lot more in the company of the younger Stark sister, a nice change from her brothers who mostly elicited a gurgling of fear in the pit of his stomach.

“Why is it _not_ the Little Mermaid?”

Robb had been guessing for about ten minutes now.

“Because she’s not so simple as ‘that lady has red hair. She is my hero.’ Pick another.”

“But I really think it could be the Little Mermaid.”

Gendry was slowly forming the opinion that Robb had never seen a single Disney film, and only knew about the Little Mermaid because he himself had red hair and was in fact that simple.

“And I think you’re an idiot.”

Jon looked up quickly and shot Gendry a look that told him the opinion was a common one at that table. Gendry bit back a smile.

“For fuck’s sake, just tell me.”

Arya smiled.

Gendry had only known Arya for a day (or more, depending on who you asked) but already he thought he could tell which sort of smile might be a good one, and which might be a smug, tormenting, merciless smile. Three guesses which was plastered across Arya’s face.

“It just wouldn’t be fair to spill such sought after information for such a small price.”

“I’m not getting you a copy of my car keys, that was ruled out already. Stop asking for it.”

“I’m not asking, I am suggesting you may wish to offer it.”

“And I’m suggesting you shove-“

_Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep._

“Hello?”

Arya held a finger out in front of her, stopping her brother mid-sentence.

“Why, yes dear sister, that sounds delightful,” her eyes lit up as Sansa spoke, and she turned to look at the boys with a grin. This smile Gendry interpreted as cunning yet excited. There was quite some range in those twitching lips. 

“I’m actually with the Robb and Jon at the mall. How far away are you? Uh-huh, yeah, if that’s okay,” she started pointing at them and gesturing at the papers on the table. When nobody made any effort to move she threw in a few other less sanitary gestures. Robb looked quickly at Jon, but his cousin just rolled his eyes. Robb turned back to Arya with a stern look that she ignored.

“Great, we’ll see you then. Yep, will do.”

“Arya, that’s really not appro-” Robb began, trying his best to be firm in the face of Arya’s unbridled glee, but she cut him off before he could finish.

“Who wants to go the movies?”

-

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you guys.”

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. There was plenty of time before the movie started, but there was also a long line at the ticket kiosk and Sansa Stark was not one for tardiness. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but she was slightly annoyed at being the first one to arrive. She hadn’t rushed through straightening her hair only to wait around while the others dawdled in the mall.

“Sorry, someone had to stop for ‘snacks’,” Arya shot daggers at Robb, her air-quotes accompanied by mimed gagging.

“What? Are we not doing M&M popcorn?” Sansa asked, her smile slipping a little. M&M popcorn was a family tradition. She was physically incapable of sitting through a full movie unless there were M&M’s on her salted popcorn.

“Oh no, we are, but Robb’s part hamster, and so only eats carrots and nuts.” Arya glowered at Robb, who looked nonplussed, clutching his bag of what Sansa guessed were very sensible nibbles.

She laughed, noting the serious line of Arya’s mouth and the tension in her shoulders. It must have been a long day. Sansa wondered briefly if the boys had mentioned Arya and Sansa’s argument last week, it had been one of their more epic disagreements, but she didn’t want to dwell on it, not now when they were talking again and doing their best not to upset each other. 

“You know, just because someone wants to look after themselves, it doesn’t mean they’re not human, Arya.” Sansa smiled as Robb shook his head at her. The look on his face said ‘don’t even try’.

“No, it makes them stupid. You’re literally never going to be in this shape again, enjoy how your body bounces back from sugar. Chocolate isn’t going to hurt you. He’s wasting his opportunities.”

Jon coughed. Sansa watched as he raised his eyebrows at Arya, looking pointedly at the stain on her shirt that Sansa dearly hoped was chocolate.

“I do not want to hear anything from you, matey,” She glowered at Jon before turning in her heel and sending a stunning smile over Robb’s shoulder, “You agree with me, don’t you, Gendry? One can never have too much sugar.”

Somehow, Sansa hadn’t noticed the boy standing behind Robb. Even towering over her brothers, he managed to give off the air of someone who wanted to be overlooked. He shrugged at Arya, a small smile quirking at his lips.

“Why, of course, when have I ever disagreed with you?” his tone was drier than Sansa had expected, with more humour than his expression had led her to believe was in hi. But even with all that, Arya still scowled.

“Literally all day. Sansa,” she turned back around with a dramatic flip of her hair, “I was roped into prom shopping and I think now I’m ready to hurl myself off a cliff. You would have loved it.”

Sansa sent an uneasy look to Jon – the only one who seemed to have any sort of sense left, “How much sugar has she had today.”

“A lot.”

“And yet still not enough somehow.” Arya piped up, glancing towards the people lining up for popcorn.

“She should not be allowed near the treats counter, she’ll only convince you to buy her more. I’ll supervise her back here,” Jon said with a firm hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“Well, Robb’s not allowed to be snack captain, he’ll only be a bad influence – Gendry, do you think you can carry this burden?” It was with great ease Arya called to Gendry, apparently. Sansa wondered about it. She hadn’t known they were friends.

“Somehow, I think my shoulders might bear the weight, if only for a short time.”

“Then I dub thee Lord of Snacks. Bring us back might bounty.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he nod ded solemnly but when he turned to Sansa she saw a look of great patience and much restraint on his face. There were many eye-rolls given that day, she imagined.

There was a decent sized queue at the counter, with a group of boisterous youths just in front of them. Sansa turned from the children and to the friend who had tagged along seemingly out of nowhere.

“So how did you get roped into Prom shopping?” she asked Gendry, hoping the question was taken as casually as she meant it.

“I have a deep passion for department stores.”

Laughter bubbled out of her, and she found herself playing along,

“The fluorescent lighting, the over-eager shop clerks. I can only imagine how much you enjoyed it. Particularly with Arya tagging along. How did she end up with you guys?” she glanced over his shoulder to where Arya was still ragging on Robb, probably questioning more basic life choices. Sansa thought he looked tired. 

“She wanted to get a dress, I think.”

“Really?” Sansa span back to Gendry, searching his face for the joke. Arya didn’t do sparkly dresses, she had said as much last week, “did she actually?”

Gendry shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed to be put on the spot “Well, she ended up getting one, and I can’t imagine her being forced to do anything she didn’t want to, so she must have.”

“Oh.” Sansa watched a couple at the front of the queue take their time deciding on which colour slushies they wanted, talking over each other. The girl was twisting her scarf around her fingers, and the boy kept blinking his blonde fringe out of his eyes. They were so awkward it could only be a first date.  “What’s it like?”

“Uh – it’s green?”

“That’d look nice.”  She watched as the awkward couple took their drinks and moved away. The boy let his hand hang down at his side, surely in the hopes that his date might happen to drop hers and grab hold of it. Sansa couldn’t help thinking how sweet they looked, clearly so excited to be out together. She remember being like that with Joffrey.

“Yeah, I like green,” Gendry was still talking, and Sansa forced herself to turn back and listen to him, “I tried on a green suit because Arya told me to, but I just looked like I was super keen for St Patrick’s day,” he laughed, maybe hoping it would clear some of their own awkwardness away. Something clicked in Sansa’s brain – that was why Arya was so at ease around him.

“Oh! So you two are going to Prom together?” she felt like she finally had a grip on the situation.

“What? Oh! No, no, no, she’s just super bossy. She’s been having a go all day.” His face had turned bright red, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel a twist of guilt at his embarrassment.

“Yeah, she does that.” She gave him a tight smile. He looked at her with pity and it took her a minute to realise that if the boys had spoken to Arya about her today, Gendry would likely know about her most recent argument with her sister. The thought of being so laid bare made her own face turn red and she reached up to brush her hair out from behind her ear.

Whether Gendry took the hint or not, she wasn’t sure because he carried on talking about Arya, “She seems to have a lot of opinions, doesn’t pull her punches, and then doesn’t understand why people get offended.”

Sansa gave a short nod, “she can be a bit harsh sometimes.” The line was moving too slowly, she thought. This conversation had been going on too long. She fixed a glare on the slow-servers.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me, I’ve just spent the whole day with her,” he let out a short laugh, shaking his head in what Sansa could only assume was exhaustion, “She’s been trying to change my dress sense. I tried on a pastel polo shirt and I thought she was going to vomit. I haven’t seen a person look that disgusted since I showed my mum by broken finger. It was bent sideways and she nearly passed out. Wasn’t great since she was driving me to the hospital at the time.”

“Oh my god, what happened?” she blinked her glower away in surprise.

“Football. In the Lions game last month some guy went to tackle Pip so I blocked him but we both when down and – well. He got the better of that exchange.” He looked so nonchalant but she noticed how he kept his left hand in his pocket. Maybe trying not to freak her out. Maybe just an unconscious thing, and not thinking about her at all.

“I forget how dangerous football can be. I try not to watch too much of it.” She wrinkled her nose, and Gendry laughed. It was a little delighted sound, softer than his grating chuckle.

“You’re a cheerleader though, aren’t you? Don’t you watch the games?”

Sansa looked at him. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him before today, how come he was so aware of her?

“I’m at the games, but it freaks me out when people get knocked down. I don’t want to see Robb or Jon get floored. I can’t imagine what I’d do if they got really hurt.”

“It’s not normally that bad. The Lions game was a nasty one, but normally it’s okay. I’ll miss it next year.” He threw the last bit in casually, but Sansa wondered if he was trying to be intriguing. Genuine or not, Sansa was curious.

“Why? Where’ll you be?”

“Still at school, but I can’t do with any distractions. Gotta focus, get ready to fly high in the world and all that.” He gestured into the misty future, eyes raised high, but Sansa caught a whiff of sarcasm in his dreaming.

“But if you’re good, couldn’t you get a football scholarship or something? Play at collegiate level?”

He sniffed and focused on shuffling forwards, “Nah, my dad’s said he’ll pay for college so long as I get in somewhere decent.”

“Oh, that’s good of him.” She said absently. She had recently begun thinking about how her parents were going to afford to pay for all six of them to go to school, and it wasn’t a pretty picture.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

The bitterness in his voice made her turn and look at him, but before she could answer, the crowd of youths moved aside and the girl at the kiosk was calling them forward.

-

It was a good movie. Sansa would probably go see it again. Maybe take Joffrey, see if Margery wanted to come with them. She’d been seeing some older guy and hadn’t hung out with Sansa much recently, but maybe she would want to spend some time with her school-friends at the movies. Sansa thought that would be good for her.

Arya couldn’t care less. She sat and listened to her sister talk, knowing that it was all just filler. They both knew what was in the air between them, and neither of them had the balls to bring it up. It was made worse by the fact that Arya knew she was lying – although passively - to her sister.

“Would Margery want to see a superhero film though? I thought she hated action.” Arya had always thought Margery frilly and boring.

Sansa shrugged, “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just an idea.” She sighed, and Arya tried to sneak a glance at her. She looked tired, but not as emotionally exhausted as she had seemed last week. That had been a bad week.

“It might be a good idea.” Arya murmured. She was trying not to be so negative. She wasn’t succeeding, but she was _trying_.

“Hm.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Arya watching the street-lights flash by. She hadn’t wanted to drive home with Sansa but Robb had stepped on her foot as they were leaving and nodded significantly towards the car. He had then mouthed something about ‘girl-talk’ before looking pleased with himself.   
He really thought he was pulling this plan off seamlessly, but Arya had seen Sansa frowning at him more than a few times, and really it didn’t take a genius to notice how he kept pushing Gendry towards her. He had made a fuss about seating in the movie theatre, insisting that he sit between Jon and Arya, leaving Gendry wedged between the two girls. Gendry had turned red again (more of a soft rose this time), and Sansa had looked a little hurt at being pushed to the end of the row.

“So what do think of Gendry?”

Even with Robb’s total lack of subtly in mind, the question took her by surprise. Of all of the things that could have come out of her sister’s mouth, she hadn’t been expecting that. But then, Arya had a strong track-record of underestimating her sister.

“He’s a good sport.” Arya replied carefully.

Sansa threw a quick sideways glance at her, “He let you eat half his popcorn.”

“And he let us drag him around today. He’s nice.” she nodded. That was the appropriate amount of positivity for your sister’s potential-next-boyfriend.

“I didn’t know he knew Robb that well.” There was something in Sansa’s tone that made Arya think she wasn’t the only one watching her words. Arya tried to keep her tone as casual as she could.

“I think he’s better friends with Jon. From football.”

She snorted, “Sure, _that’s_ why he spent the whole day with you guys.”

Arya frowned, the prickling of heat growing in her stomach. Had Sansa guessed this quickly? She silently cursed Robb and his lack of tact. A whole day of shaping and preparing, all struck down by- by- by what? But Robb wanting to sit in the middle? By Gendry chatting politely with Sansa? Terrible as the boys may be at forming a dastardly plan, Arya was struggling to think of one particular event that might have tipped Sansa off. There wasn’t anything that she couldn’t shrug off as paranoia. She tried not to think about the morals of lying to her sister were in this situation. Was it still gas-lighting if it was for her own good?

Arya tried to keep her voice level as she asked, “What do you mean?”

Sansa waited until they pulled up at a red light before turning to look at her sister, “Arya,” she began calmly, “there are only so many reasons why a guy puts up with his friends’ little sister, and fashion advice is not one of them.” Arya watched as she shook her head. Her hair was falling out of its clip, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you-”

“Oh my god, Arya, he obviously likes you!” Her smile was so wide that Arya almost wanted to agree with her, just to keep her looking that happy. Instead she found embarrassment bubbling up into laughter.

“No he doesn’t he was just bein-”

“Arya, don’t be thick.” Sansa rolled her eyes, ignoring the green light in favour of watching her sister struggle with emotions. Perhaps it was the genuine battle happening in Arya’s mind, but Sansa looked fully convinced that she had hit the nail on the head. There was a romantic entanglement afoot and she was close to sniffing it out. Arya had to put a stop to it.

“No, seriously, Sansa, it’s not _me_ he likes.” She would never make it as an actress. Even she could hear the false ring to her words. It was a little high-pitched, and maybe there was a touch too much enthusiasm. Sansa blinked, still staring at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he spent half the day asking about you.”

A car pulled up behind them, honking. They both jumped. Arya had forgotten they were essentially parked in the middle of a main road.

Neither one offered any further words as Sansa drove off, using the silence to process.

“Are you sure he meant me?” Sansa’s voice was small when it finally broke the quiet.

Arya felt the weight of her gaze again.

“Yes, Sansa I’m sure.”

She considered it for a minute, glancing at her sister whenever the road allowed. Arya arranged her face carefully into something gentle, but encouraging. She thought of Jon earlier, when Robb had tried to name different types of handbags. She had an inkling that the attempt at exasperated humour was more a pained sneer. Maybe Jon hadn’t actually been that sincere in his urging. Robb really didn’t know anything about fashion.

“But we’ve never really talked before. I mean, I think we had Physics together, but that was it.” Sansa was frowning. Hopefully she was lost in the past, wondering about longing glances she didn’t see, thinking of what might have been. She was probably trying to remember anything besides Gendry’s first name, Arya realised when she sighed finally. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“Well you must have left an impression. And who knows? Maybe that’s a good thing.” Arya positioned her smile so it was the maximum amount of hopeful and impartial. The last thing they wanted was for her to be a roadblock in this operation.  

“I’m with Joffrey.” She sounded tired, Arya thought.

“You don’t have to be.” She was tired, she thought. Tired of this. Tired of trying to convince Sansa of something everyone could see. Tired of pretending.

“So you don’t like him at all?”

The question caught her off-guard.

“Joffrey?”

“Gendry!”

“Oh,” sense finally clicked its way back into Arya’s brain, “No. No, definitely no. He’s just Jon’s friend. Cute but really antagonistic, doesn’t do anything he’s told to.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Arya was too tired for this girl-talk malarkey. Why weren’t girls allowed to speak plainly? Why were they expected to be masters of this double-speaking, of the dark arts as Arya saw it, as well as all dealing with all the misogynistic bullshit men forced on them?

“Nothing.”

“Sansa just-”

“I have nothing to say, Arya.”

“Right.” She took a breath, and the exhale was the only sound in the long pause that followed. She considered for a minute whether she had any motivation left in her to finish this. It had been a long day after all.   
And then she thought of a long day last week, when Sansa’s eyes had sparkled as she span around in her blue prom dress. Excited, sparkling eyes, even while red from a day of tears.

Arya tried to soften her voice, tried to push into her words as much affection, as much apology, as much hope as she could,

“Sansa, I’m not saying you should jump his bones and ride off into the sunset, I just think it’s important you know you have options. Options beyond Joffrey.”

“I know.” There was something in her voice that made Arya wonder if her sister was far cannier than she was letting on. Maybe she didn’t need a twelve point plan to sort herself out. Maybe the seeds of her resurrection were already planted.

Neither one said anything else for the rest of the drive home, but Arya watched her sister out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t seem upset, just pensive. Something in their conversation had stuck to her. She was just hoping it was the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so slow in being updated, life got busy really quickly! I haven't finished chapter 5 yet, but it is more complete than it was a week ago, so that's progress, right?  
> I would love it if you could comment and let me know what you think of how the story's doing, where it's headed, etc. I have got a plan, but honestly, the Starks have a life of their own, so who knows where we'll end up?   
> Thank you for reading, I look forward to hearing from you!   
> xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Gendry was beginning to think the weekend had been a dream.

Or at least, his head was still spinning so fast from Saturday that he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

He spent Monday in a constant state of recollection, flashbacks forcing their way into his consciousness. He was called out more than once for glazing over in class, but he couldn’t help it. There was no calculus scrawled on a blackboard in front of him, there was only rows of silk and cashmere and luxury he could never afford. In English class, Cathy wasn’t declaring her soul for Heathcliff, but berating him for not trying on a floral-patterned waistcoat. Gendry was so zoned out by the time fourth period came that he couldn’t hear the bell ring over the voice in his head, asking if he was allergic to good taste or just had a mild intolerance.

He was so caught up in this fantasy world of memory that he almost walked straight passed them on his way to lunch.  
He had stopped at his locker to drop his books off, and he was still only half in the real world. The corridor was almost empty so he thought there was nobody around to see him smiling to himself, but he took a quick glance around to make sure, just in case.  
They were standing half hidden in a doorway on the opposite side of the hall. There was a slamming noise and for a second Gendry thought that it was aimed at him. When he came to his senses a second later, he tried to turn back to his locker, to not get involved with something that wasn’t his business. But something in him must have known – sensed, foreseen, feared – and made him stop and watch.

She looked angry, but he looked worse. He was whispering quickly and she didn’t speak. His hand was wrapped around her wrist, a little too tightly, Gendry noticed, and something twisted inside him. Anger, defiance, mistrust. All the same feelings he got when one of his mom’s boyfriends got rough with her.

It couldn’t have been a nice conversation, whatever they were talking about. A minute later Joffrey stalked away and Sansa’s eyes were red.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Gendry had no idea why he asked. Up until the noises came out of his mouth he had been doing a perfectly good job of pretending that he had nothing to do with them. But perhaps he was just pretending to himself that he wasn’t waiting for the little shit to leave. Regardless of the convoluted plan the Starks had brought to him, nobody should be spoken to like that, not by someone who was supposed to love them.

Sansa’s eyes were wild for a second as she looked for the source of the voice. The shock on her pale face when her gaze locked with Gendry’s scared him. She blinked and then seemed to shake herself. She pulled her bag onto her shoulder and flicked her hair over the other one, rolling her eyes.

“I’m fine. He’s just being dramatic.” She scoffed, and it was almost believable.

“Looked pretty intense,” he closed his locker now, stepping forward towards her, crossing the divide of an empty hallway, “Did he hurt you?” he nodded to her wrist. She had tucked it against her stomach, cradled it almost.

She moved it quickly, out of sight down by her side. She tried to laugh but it sounded a little too hysterical to be genuine. “That skinny boy? He couldn’t hurt a fly.” She smirked.

Gendry nodded, not believing a word of it. Joffrey wasn’t the biggest of guys but that didn’t mean he was gentle.

“You heading to lunch?” she asked, nodding over his shoulder to the stairs. They led down to the cafeteria where there were witnesses and people who probably knew how to look after Sansa better than Gendry - people who he could inform of the scene and ask for advice - but he suddenly felt no desire to go to them. You can’t help someone who won’t recognise the problem, after all.

“The library. I have a paper I need to look over.”

Sansa nodded, and Gendry tried not to read too much into the way her lips twisted down, lines spread across her forehead.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” she asked, taking him by surprise. There was an intensity in the question that he couldn’t quite place, a sub-meaning that set his teeth on edge.

He nodded, “Of course. See you around, Sansa.”

She shot him a quick smile – watery and utterly miserable - before disappearing and he thanked the gods he hadn’t eaten yet. He was suddenly feeling very unwell.

-

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh, come on,” Jon rolled his eyes as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, clambering out of the Chinese torture trap that is high-school chair-desks, “it wasn’t that bad.” He sighed as they left the classroom - five minutes late to lunch. Mr. Stone did not believe in letting up for anything as trivial as basic human needs.

“You didn’t see it, man, you were too busy blushing at Ygritte to pay any proper attention. And if you had been, you’d have seen it. It was the size of a watermelon. A big watermelon. The sort that fancy internet people turn into kegs for their strange ice-tea at Garden Parties. Bigger than a _human_ head, surely.”

Jon ignored the Ygritte comment. They had shared a look at one point, sure, but it wasn’t like they were snuggling at the back together. They had suffered through their teacher’s love of human anatomy right alongside Sam.

“I don’t think so. It was a video on child-birth, after all.”

“Yeah, but it was more like melon-birth, the size of that thing. Eugh.” Sam shuddered, and shook his head. Jon grinned, trying not to laugh at his friend too obviously.

“Nerves of Steel, you’ve got there, Gamgee.”

Sam frowned at the nickname, but didn’t say anything. He had been the one to introduce Jon to Lord of the Rings after all, and Samwise Gamgee was a hero among Men _and_ Hobbits. Sam tried to think of it as a comment on his resilience rather than his appetite, but didn’t want to ask.

“I understand it’s good to know how these things happen, but I don’t understand why we have to see it. That’s all I’m saying.” He said conclusively when they reached their lockers.  
They had been on the same wall of lockers since freshman year. There had been a wobbly moment in Junior year when their Home Room tutor had tried to give Jon a locker on the first floor, but some quick thinking and a hasty conversation with a giggling Tyrell later, and Jon was a football jersey down but a locker up on the third floor right beside Sam.

“Sure,” Jon nodded, no longer really listening. He had just spotted Gendry at the end of the corridor, head low, brow furrowed. Jon hadn’t had a chance to talk to him after Saturday and so only had Robb’s assurances that Gendry had enjoyed himself to go on. He didn’t find that all too settling, if he was honest – Robb hadn’t spoken to Gendry either. He was just going on instinct, and he wasn’t exactly a master of the art of human subtlety.

Sam was talking about English homework now, but Jon wasn’t listening.

“Sam, I’ve just gotta-” he said quickly, nodding down the corridor. Sam nodded and Jon dashing down the hall. He had left his locker hanging open, but figured Sam wouldn’t take advantage too badly.

“Hey! Gendry!”

He turned slowly, blinking as though in a daze. It took a second, but he nodded and stopped.

“Hey,”

“Hey, how are you?”

He blinked again, but after a beat replied, “Fine. You?”

“Good.”

They both shifted uncomfortably, Jon shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Gendry fiddling with the zip on his hoodie, neither one sure how to move on from their stunted conversation.  
Gendry was waiting for something, Jon thought, but he couldn’t quite get his mouth around the words he needed to say.

“Was - Saturday – how was it? For you I mean.”

To his credit, Gendry took the stuttering in his stride, and nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. Anything for free food, right?” he joked but it didn’t reach his eyes and his heart clearly wasn’t in it.

“Right,” Jon nodded along with him. He didn’t know Gendry that well. They played football together, and he sometimes showed his face at the after-parties, but otherwise they hadn’t spent a lot of time together. Now he was wondering if that was a mistake.

“Look, I just wanted to say again, thanks for doing this. You have no reason to get caught up in our family drama, but you’re doing it anyway. It just- it means a lot.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do whatever you need.” There was an intensity behind the words that made Jon pause. It couldn’t just be for Sansa’s sake that Gendry was suddenly so committed to the cause, could it? For some random girl? Gendry must have understood some of what was going on in Jon’s head because when he spoke again it was something close to an explanation.

“I saw Sansa with Joffrey just now. They looked like they were arguing. She said she was fine when I spoke to her after, but I see what you mean about him asserting his influence. She shouldn’t be with someone like him.”

Jon didn’t know how to react, so he just nodded.

“And here I thought you maybe just had a crush on my sister.” He joked.

Gendry smiled, but again, it didn’t quite reach his eyes and Jon could tell he didn’t actually find it very funny.

“Because you’d have to defend her honour if I did?” he asked, and it was too heavy a question not to take him seriously, given the circumstances.

“Well, look where we are now. Family’s all we’ve got, isn’t it? You’ve got to at least try to look after it.”

“That’s true.”

And maybe it was because they were both outsiders to the Stark siblings, or because he was willing to go to the mattresses for a girl he hardly knew, but Jon decided he needed to look after Gendry as well. At least while he was vying for a position in the family.

“Look, I was thinking that we need to iron some details. Do you have any plans for the weekend?

Gendry narrowed his eyes. He’d heard that one before.

“Why?”

“I’ll text you.”

-

“Why is your phone so shit?”

The room had been empty a few seconds ago, he was sure of it. Robb was shuffling about in the kitchen and Jon had gone upstairs for notepaper, so Gendry, in the habit of a generation, had pulled his phone out and started scrolling.

He looked up at her, blinking in surprise, but otherwise quite proud of his lack of reaction,

“Er – hi. Nice to see you too.”

She threw herself down on the sofa next to him, sinking so deeply into it he worried for a second that it would swallow her whole.

“Hi there, how’s the family, hope you’re well, nice weather we’re having, why is your phone so shit?” She didn’t stop for breath or even to meet his eye before reaching over and plucking it out of his hands. “It doesn’t even have a front camera.” She was wearing sweats and her hair was scraped back in a bun but somehow she still looked ready for business.

“I don’t need a front camera.” Great reply, Gendry. Really stellar conversation skills there.

She looked at him – finally – with a knowing expression, although what she was supposed to know Gendry was sure, “Everyone needs a front camera.”

He frowned. He didn’t like having things because everyone had them, “What would I use it for?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged and spun his phone back to him, “Dick-pics?”

Gendry felt himself going red. He thought he had gotten used to Arya’s brash questions, but here she was making him squirm again.

“Do you even use the front camera for dick-pics? Surely there were better angles with the - ”

He forced himself to meet her eye, hoping it would cut his ramblings short.

“I – er – I mean -”

He tried to stammer something out, although wasn’t sure that was completely wise. If the conversation had started with dick pics, who knew where it would end? He blinked at her, not sure what she wanted from him. The look on her face told him dying of embarrassment was exactly right.

“Arya! What are you doing home?”

Robb was stood in the doorway scowling, but somehow he didn’t look angry. In the time that Gendry had spent with the Starks he had come to learn that Robb scowling was normal and was more like your average person’s confused expression. Perhaps it was an eldest sibling thing but it seemed to Gendry that Robb never liked to admit he didn’t know something. On the football field he was all confidence and even in the middle of a department store he had known how to find his firm ground. Gendry had no such skill. He was mostly just hoping the sofa would swallow him whole, or at the very least that Robb hadn’t heard his baby sister talking about dick-pics.

Robb moved further into the room and shoved Arya’s feet off the coffee table. The tray he set down was overloaded with snacks. Gendry couldn’t help glancing at Arya again - he knew what she got like with a little sugar – but she wasn’t looking. She was tapping away furiously on her phone, frowning and looking remarkably like her brother.

“That’s a lot of food.” The awkward silence was getting to him. He wasn’t sure that he filled it particularly well, but it was better than hearing the echo of ‘dick pics’ that was running around his head.

“We’re going to be here for a while.” Robb’s face was solemn as he settled in the armchair nearest the television, “We have a lot to sort out.”

“Right. The plan.” Gendry nodded once. He wondered, if he stared long enough, would he soak up some of Robb’s stout confidence? Maybe if he was more severe in his actions, more decisive or maybe just less self-aware.

“Indeed.” Robb nodded sagely before reaching for a doughnut off the overloaded tray and taking a massive bite out of it. He settled back in his chair completely oblivious to the jelly glooping its way down the front of his shirt.

Arya cast a quick look of disdain at him before going back to her tapping. She must have been writing a novel on that thing because her fingers hadn’t been still since she sat down.

Gendry tapped his fingers against his leg. He couldn’t pull his phone out for fear of being less important than Ms. Stark, and he couldn’t reach for something off the diabetes-tray lest he look less stylish than Robb covered in sugar. He focused on the cushion on his lap. It was a nice blue colour. His mom would like it. She would love this whole place.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked. Gendry was doing his best to be subtle and not stare, but really, who had a _mantelpiece_? Who had a fireplace for that matter? The whole house was ridiculous, and – like every Stark he had met so far – made to intimidate him.

It was three torturous minutes before Jon stomped back down the stairs.

“Found my notebook,” he said unnecessarily, waving a black book before settling on the sofa on the other side of Arya.

Robb breathed in deeply, and puffed out his chest. He looked very self-important,

“Shall we begin then?”

Gendry nodded quickly, happy just to be doing something. If Robb had suggested climbing up the chimney to see if there were birds nesting there he would have said yes – anything to break the silence.

Robb cleared his throat, “Right-oh. In that case, this meeting is begun, Arya put your phone down.”

Arya snorted, “This meeting of minds you mean? Oh joy.”

“You can leave if you want.” Jon was smirking, but Arya didn’t look up from her phone to see the joke in his eyes. She simply scoffed before replying,

“And leave you three to sort this out? Fat chance. I’d come back and you would have decided to steal Sansa’s diary or force Gendry to learn how to ballroom dance.”

Robb opened his mouth to speak, a light appearing behind his eyes,

“No!” Arya finally looked away from her phone to glare at her brother.

Jon laughed, “Sorry Gendry, looks like you’ll have to put your dancing shoes back in the closet.”

“Maybe not.” Robb smiled, glancing quickly at Gendry before raising an eyebrow at his cousin. After a brief moment Jon nodded.

“Good idea. Arya could you-”

“On it.” Arya dipped her head back down and her fingers started tapping again.

Gendry tried to ignore the fluttering of panic in his stomach.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He didn’t really want to know, but from the look of concentration on Arya’s face he knew that there was no escape.

Nobody answered his question, instead Robb asked, “You don’t have any plans after the game on Friday do you?”

Gendry shook his head nervously, “No, nothing at the moment.”

“Great, so you can come to the party.”

“What party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all your reviews. They are so kind and make it worth writing. I love love love hearing what you think of the story, and all the different theories. 
> 
> I’m trying to have the next chapter ready before uploading the last one, so that’s why it’s taken so long to upload this one – chapter 6 was a bit of a thorny one with new perspectives and all. You’ll see.   
> Anyway, for now, I hope you enjoyed this, and I would LOVE to hear what you thought. Nice, nasty, neither, bring the comments. I’m ready and waiting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, big life changes have happened and now I live in a different country and do a completely different job, and am so much busier! I have chapter 7 pretty much finished but I want to break the back on chapter 8 before I post it, just in case I decide to change anything major.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Some people think Sundays are sacred, meant for reflection and quiet. Sometimes people use the early morning to gather together in old buildings, and nod along to soothing music and snooze-inducing voices.

These people, in Rickon Stark’s opinion, were morons.

Why would you spend your day being boring when the Wintertown sports field stood waiting?

With freshly cut grass in your nostrils, sweat on your brow, and a throat raw from shouting, Sunday mornings here had more soul-nourishing goodness than a whole parish of cathedrals.

“Come on, dummies, pass the frickin’ ball!”

If his face wasn’t already red from exertion, Rickon would be turning tomato-berry with rage. His team was losing – again – and nobody was fricking listening to him. He was breathing hard, running up the pitch alongside Jorge Keep, the supposed captain, and all-round moron. It was only the sound of Rickon’s breathing that kept the furious ringing in his ears at bay.

Captain Stupid - chosen apparently because he had the smallest dick known to man and needed to be given as much sympathy as possible – was once again proving that Rickon was right and the Wintertown under sixteens soccer team was made up of fruckwits and suck-ups.

“Pass the fucking ball, Keep!”

A whistle sounded and Rickon couldn’t hold back his groan, they were such pussies.

“What?” he span, arms wide in outrage, to face their sweaty boob of a coach waddling towards him. Coach Keep was scowling at him – again, for frick’s sake.

“Stark! Language,” he held out a yellow card and Rickon groaned,

“Are you fricking kidding me? _I’m_ getting carded? _He’s_ the one who won’t get his head out of his fat ass long enough to pass the fucking ball!”

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t a good idea to insult Jorge’s ass to his father’s face, especially since they were of similar sized asses. The red card bounced off his forehead.

It felt like he had a paper cut. He _should_ have the captain’s badge. He glared at the team behind the captain’s back. Maesy Bont was smirking at him like a cat in front of a plate of cream so he could only assume she’d finally let Keep stick his fingers down her pants. He wasn’t surprised – she had stuck her tongue down his throat barely ten minutes after finishing a milkshake with Max Cagg last month. She wasn’t fussy. She was fucking annoying though.

Fuck them all. Rickon ripped his bib off and dropped it in the mud. Let them lose. He stomped back to the lockers, scraping his studs against the concrete making a racket they couldn’t ignore. It’s not like he wanted to get ice-cream with them anyway. His mom probably had ice-cream at home. Fucking Keep. Fucking Coach. Fucking –

Rickon pulled his phone out of his bag and groaned. His dad still hadn’t worked out how to turn off predictive text. It took hours to figure out what he meant most the time, but this one was pretty clear.

_Work emergency, call Santa for a ride, she’s at the mall._

Unless Mr Claus had made some big life-changes, ‘Santa’ was probably Rickon’s dad struggling with the predictive text again. Rickon heaved a great sigh. He was going to have to call his sister and get shouted at for getting mud on the car. Great. Because he needed another lecture. He sighed again as he press ‘call’. He could hardly contain his excitement.

-

“This is so exciting!”

The front door slammed, and all four of them froze.

“Oh my God, Marg, I’m so happy for you!”

The lounge was at the back of the house, overlooking the sloping garden, and completely concealed from the front door. And yet they could hear every word of Sansa’s conversation.

Gendry looked at Jon who was struggling not to laugh. His lips were wobbling and he was frowning like he expected uncontrolled eyebrows to give him away. Robb took a deep breath and whispered to the others,

“It’s okay, just be quiet for a bit, she’ll probably just go upstairs.”

Gendry looked around at the others, and was surprised to find them taking Robb somewhat seriously, giggling aside. They sat perfectly still, listening as their sister’s voice floated away upstairs. A door closed and it was gone. Gendry watched Robb sigh in relief, and his confusion increased.

“Um, why are we hiding from her? I mean, can’t we just put the TV on or something?”

Robb shook his head solemnly, “No, we told her we’d be out all day. I said Jon wanted to try rock-climbing.”

Arya scowled at him, “Why?”

“She wanted a ride to the mall.”

It was like Arya and Robb were having a competition to see who could look angrier. Robb ground his teeth making his jaw jump. Gendry felt a little intimidated until he looked back at Arya whose nostrils were flaring and he felt ready to declare a winner. Ding ding ding, the award for the most terrifying Stark goes to-

“So to avoid a twenty minute drive, you told a ridiculous lie-”

Robb recoiled, pouting and tucking his chin to his chest like a child hearing his mom calling him to get off the climbing frame, “I could totally take up rock-climbing, I’m athletic.”

“-that now compromises the whole thing if she finds us in the house?” Arya’s voice was quiet but Gendry knew that was more for Sansa’s benefit than Robb’s. She had totally ignored her brother’s comment.

“Well, us, not you.” Robb shrugged, reaching forward for another pastry and finally Gendry caught the glimmer of humour. It must have been there before for their scowling contest to have slipped away so suddenly, but it was much harder to see it in Robb’s eyes than Arya’s. But then, Gendry spent a lot less time looking at Robb.

Arya rolled her eyes, and pursed her lips, but Gendry caught that it was just a way of holding back her laughter, “You’re such a dummy.”

“What? This is serious!” Jon ducked behind a cushion to avoid the spray of crumbs but Gendry wasn’t so quick. He hoped it was just a phantom chocolate chip on his cheek, but the wobble of Robb’s lips told him there was no imagining necessary. Jon held out a napkin and Gendry did his best not to meet his eye.

“Well I’m not hiding from Sansa.” Arya declared, turning – finally – to look at Gendry. She frowned when she saw him dabbing blindly at his face, and without a word took the napkin and swiped at his cheek. “Do you want to stay here with these fools or come and see if we have pretzels?”

Gendry watched as she placed the napkin back on the tray thoughtlessly, as though touching him and his flaming face was the most casual thing in the world.

“I-uh-” he glanced over at Robb who was ignoring his sister, and instead focusing on the pastry in front of him, and nodded, “Sure, I could eat a pretzel.”

As they stood he glanced over at Jon, who was watching them. There was something about his expression that didn’t quite make sense – a protectiveness, a confusion, a frown that wasn’t quite a scowl but definitely wasn’t not a scowl either.

Whatever was going on in Jon’s head was his own business, Gendry decided. He could only control his own thoughts. And he was very much over trying to interpret the Starks and their facial expressions. Sometimes a scowl should just be a scowl.

He stood and followed Arya down a hallway. He watched as she swept her hair over her shoulder. It was a tick he had seen before, but only now, walking through their home did he realise that it was a habit both Stark sisters shared. He wondered if Arya knew how like her sister she was. And then Arya turned and smiled at him, pulling him into the kitchen and he brushed all thoughts of comparison out of his mind. He _could_ control his own thoughts.

Feelings however, were an entirely different matter.

-

Rickon stamped his foot against the curb, knocking a clump of mud away but doing nothing for his bad mood.

As predicted, Sansa had been annoyed. She had turned up to the sports field looking ruffled and unhappy. If it hadn’t been for the flick of her long red hair and moody tilt of her chin, Rickon wouldn’t have known it was her. She drove in silence, the only noise her grunt of irritation when a clod of mud dropped from his shoe onto the floor mat. She had glared when he had reached for the radio and he had taken the hint. No talk. Silence today. Sansa needed to be left alone.

She sighed when he jumped out of the car, scattering dirt over the drive, but then her phone rang and Rickon nearly shat himself when she answered.

“Hiya Marge, how are you? I’ve missed you, girlie!”

Perky, high-pitched, happily hair flicking.

He thought back over the past week as quickly as he could – when had he upset Sansa? What had he done to make her hate just him in particular? He had borrowed her shower gel, but that was just because he liked lemons. Lemons were a gender neutral scent, there was no way she was mad at him for that, right? And it wouldn’t be the toast crumbs he had spat over her homework last night, that had been math and nobody ever cared if their math homework was ruined.

Rickon frowned as Sansa swung her bags onto her arms and marched to the front door. She swept inside, somehow balancing bags and keys and phone without a single wobble. She shut the door sharply behind her and Rickon looked down at his feet. Yeah, best not to follow her just now.

He trudged round to the back door. That was okay, the back door led to the kitchen and the kitchen was where the ice-cream was. If anything could make this shit day better it was ice-cream.

“I want a milkshake with my pretzel. Or maybe a hot chocolate.” Arya’s voice slipped out the open kitchen window, loud and clear and stopped Rickon in his tracks.

Yes. Pretzels. Milkshakes. Chocolate. All good. Not ice-cream, but still good. He smiled. At least one of his sisters was sane.

“Not a mega-shake?”

Rickon froze. Who was that? Why did Arya have a boy in the house?

The back of the Stark house was made almost entirely of windows. It was beautifully designed if you wanted light and fresh air. It was terribly designed if you were trying to spy on your sister and the tall muscly guy following her around. Rickon tucked himself between two bushes covered in those bright flowers his mother loved, praying they weren’t the thorny kind. He could only handle so many unexpected pricks at one time.  
He leant forward slowly, gripping onto the window-ledge, waiting. His family would have you believe that Rickon was only capable of moving at top speed, crashing his way through life, but when there was someone staring at his sister like a lost puppy he could be quiet. He could bide his time.

The couple in the kitchen had continued their conversation, oblivious to the wannabe-ninja crouched in the bushes outside. The sleuthing a success so far.

“No, I still haven’t recovered from the last one. I had such a hangover the next day.”

A hangover? Arya? Rickon knew dad would kill any of them for underage drinking, not even Arya would ignore him on that. Who was this guy who could lead his sister astray like that? He squinted past the lace curtains and watched a large hand run through dark spikey hair. A nervous habit perhaps. Rickon filed the information away. Spies did that. You never knew what you might need later. The scoundrel was talking again. Rickon glared at him.

“Yeah, it’s a beast. Still not as good as Mott’s shakes.”

Well at least Arya’s scoundrel had good taste. Rickon couldn’t see more than the back of his head from this angle, just a bit of his neck. It looked red though – was he blushing? Was he horny? Was he nervous? Was he sunburnt? Rickon was determined to find out. He pulled himself closer to the wall, pressing his toes into the soil. It was a good thing nobody had done the dishes this morning, they were the perfect cover. See, Mom? Sometimes being lazy _is_ a good thing.  
The scoundrel was hovering near the sink. Brown hair. Fairly tall. Knew Mott’s was the best milkshake place. Possibly leading Arya towards underage binge-drinking. Or was that binge-milkshake-drinking? Rickon tallied it up in his head. He wasn’t prepared to approve of this guy. Not yet anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe that when I taste it. Why are you so loyal to Mott anyway? I thought you didn’t work there anymore.” It sounded to Rickon – he still couldn’t see Arya, she was far too little to feature in the window – like she was trying not to laugh. There was an edge to her voice he was only a little familiar with, like she was trying not to be too interested, like she was being cool and aloof. Aren’t girls supposed to be interested in guys they like? Did this mean Arya didn’t like him?

“I don’t but he – er – he was good to me. And that place helped me a lot, working there I mean. He – well, promise not to tell anyone, okay, but he took me on when I was 14. I was too young to be working there, but we really needed the money so he let me wash dishes.”

It was the worst kept secret around that Mott’s was the place to go if you were short on cash. If you had a dollar he would make it stretch to three, but Rickon was surprised that he would let a kid work in the kitchen. Rickon frowned. He wasn’t impressed with that sort of shady business. It wasn’t looking good for this guy.

“That’s cool of him.”

“Yeah it is. It’s a good place.”

Just because he knew Mott being decent didn’t mean _he_ was decent, Rickon mused. And then he thought of his soccer team squawking like seagulls about whether they were getting a cup or cone after practice and he remembered that it wasn’t that great. Closer to ‘awful and terrible’ than good. Stupid Mott and his home-made ice-cream.

“And you liked washing dishes?”

She definitely wasn’t interested in him, Rickon decided. Nobody asked stupid questions like that around people they’re trying to impress.

“Nobody likes washing dishes, but I liked earning money. It was good to support my mom.”

“Why?”

The question was quiet and Rickon wondered if Arya was near the doorway to the hall, getting ready to leave the room. He took a step to the side – crack! – a branch broke and Rickon’s heart pounded. Shit, he was supposed to be spying on them, spies weren’t betrayed by their camouflage. His heart pounded, his breath quickened, but his feet were slow. By the time he had dragged himself round to the side window he was sure they would be there, their faces pressed to the glass, laughing at his failed attempt at espionage.

“Huh?”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine – I – uh-”

“So-“

“Yeah, uh – well”

There was a clattering and the sound of two people bumbling around each other. Through the glass panel Rickon saw the boy duck down, and Arya dance forward. His head bounced off her chin, just enough to make him jump and drop the mugs again. They hadn’t even noticed the noises from outside. Excellent.

 _You are a ninja,_ Rickon thought, _you are the breeze on the leaves, you are invisible._ He peered through the glass and kept an ear to the voices still coming from the open window.

Arya was bright red and chewing on her lip, grabbing at broken ceramic pieces. She had her back to Mr. Smooth now, focused on organising the ceramic shards on the counter by the sink. The boy was equally red-faced but he was watching her. Rickon glared at him, at his casual lean against the table, his folded arms. Rickon waited for the boy to glance in the wrong place, for his eyes to slip down. Just you try it, buddy. If he was a real spy Rickon would have had a stun gun, and he would absolutely use it. Even if the scoundrel did only have his eyes fixed on Arya’s hair. She brushed it over her ears, hiding more of her face.

“So, Mott?”

“He let me work coz my mom already had a lot going on, two jobs, y’know?”

“Huh. Where’s your dad?”

“He wasn’t really in the picture.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Rickon didn’t care much for their conversation. If you’re interested in a girl you ask her questions, you learn about her. This guy was too busy talking about himself. There was no way Arya could be into him.  
Arya was still facing the sink. She was biting her lip and looking awful. Her face was the deepest red Rickon had ever seen, almost purple. It was a good thing she didn’t like this guy because she was blowing it.

“No big deal. It just means I’ve learnt to live without him. Learnt to adapt. For example, I could make you a better hot chocolate than you could ever dream of whipping up.”

Arya’s lips twitched and Rickon was grudgingly impressed – this guy knew how to drag himself out of an embarrassing situation. She turned from the sink and flicked her hair over her shoulder. Rickon took a little step forward, his feet digging into the flowerbed again. Shit. Those were his mother’s petunias. And that was plant fertiliser. Fresh too from the smell of it. Fuck, it stank. But Arya was talking again, so Rickon was listening through the fumes.

“Oh yeah?” Arya laughed, and swished her hair again, crossing her arms and leaning back against the draining board, “Prove it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy grinned, and stepped toward Arya. Annoyingly he stepped to her right, shielding himself from Rickon’s line of sight. Damn. Arya leaned forward and swayed slightly. Or maybe Rickon swayed – the fertiliser was really strong, he was starting to feel it in the back of his throat. It tasted like having no ice-cream and a ne'er-do-well in his kitchen.

Rickon saw an elbow, a hand rubbing the back of a red neck – was the boy blushing again? What was with all these red faces? The boy leant closer to Arya, and Rickon saw the smile on his face. She shook her head and laughed – fuck, he had said something, something funny perhaps? - and now Arya was shaken, with red cheeks and nervous hands.

When her phone rang it nearly tumbled out of her hands. Her eyes widened and she looked up sort of guiltily, her lower lip caught between her teeth again.

“I have to get this, shouldn’t be too long.”

“Okay.” He nodded and turned back to the counter, back out of Rickon’s line of vision. Just before Arya left the room, the boy stepped forward and Rickon saw his face in full, watching her go.

Rickon was stood in his mother’s flower-bed with something tickling at his shin, squashing prize-winners and getting high off fertilizer, going slightly mad, but he needed to see, needed to know. The boy in his kitchen looked – well, weird. The look on his face wasn’t a look of love, of a boy wishing for more time with the girl he wanted. It was kid with his hand in the cookie jar. It was Rickon when he tracked mud through the house and made mom sigh like she was a thousand years old and sick of it all. It was guilt.

Maybe the guy in Rickon’s kitchen wasn’t a scoundrel. He could make his sister laugh and knew where the best shakes in town came from. But from Rickon’s experience – and he wouldn’t have called it limited, he _had_ made out with Maya Sunspear behind the equipment shed last semester – nobody looked that guilty over something they should be doing.

-

“Hey, Ned, so are we on?”

“Yeah, babe, on like Donkey-Kong.”

Some people said Ned was hot. He was known as being a bit of a jock – on the hockey team at least – easy-going and funny. He was not known for his subtlety.

Arya did her best not to sigh. But then she remembered that she wasn’t Sansa, and didn’t have to lady-like and genteel.

“Stop being a dick.”

“Sorry, babe. I’m just a keen bean, I love football season.” He didn’t, he loved the parties that got thrown during football season. The Dayne residence was renowned both for its casual owners and heated pool. Many a night gone wrong had started in the Dayne house.

“Yeah, sure, you’re the party man-“

Ned laughed and Arya carried on speaking, worried he was going to come out with another dumb comment.

“- but I am the girl asking for the party and I want to make sure my demands are met.”

“Sure, sure, I can meet all your needs.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ned, will there be booze, will there be a lack of parental supervision, and will there be enough of a weird mix of people that I can sort out what I need to sort out?”

“Done and done. Are you sure those are all of your needs, babe?”

“No, Ned, my other need is that you stop calling be ‘babe’. It’s fucking annoying.”

“Sorry, babe, I just can’t help myself around you.”

“You sound like a sleazy date-rape college kid. Or like a bad pimp in an even worse movie. Just call people by their name, dammit.”

She hung up before he could reply. Ned Dayne was best dealt with in short bursts. He hadn’t always been a douche, but sometime around last year he had gone from the sweet guy Arya could chat to about hockey, to the weirdo who kept trying to get in her panties, and frankly she didn’t have the time for it.

A door slammed somewhere down the hall. Arya could only imagine what had happened in Sansa’s conversation for her to go from giggling Barbie girl to angst monster, but she assumed it had something to do with a blonde haired, blue eyed little shit she was looking forward to seeing kicked to the curb very shortly. And maybe physically kicked too. She would love to kick that smug face. Or at least slap it around a bit. Fucker.

It was barely half three and she was already so tired. She ought to go back to Gendry, save him from the lunacy of Robb and Jon. But then she thought about his face in the kitchen, that look when she had grabbed onto his arm, the curve of his lips when he teased her.

She buried her face in her pillow and groaned. These boys. They were going to be the death of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> A comment would mean so much to me, just to let me know if you like it, hate it, have any feedback whatsoever.  
> Thanks for your time!


	7. Chapter 7

** Chapter 7 **

She forgot to put her sunglasses in the car. She frowned and pretended she was just squinting, but really it was just yet another thing she should have known better not to do.  
Oh gods, that was needlessly dramatic. Who was she? Some dumb theatre kid?

She snorted. No matter what her sister might say, Sansa hated dramatics.

“Did you see Davey today? His new haircut makes him look like a cancer patient.”

Margaery giggled without taking her eyes off her phone. Sansa had seen Davey, and she had also seen Tomas offer him a hat when it looked like he might cry.

“I think it’s brave to make such a big change. Like, imagine if you decided to cut all your hair off, you have no idea what you’d look like.” She didn’t care about Davey, but everyone had to have at least one bad haircut in their life, and Sansa dreaded to think what Marge would say when Sansa’s time came.

“Yeah, _imagine._ I know better.” She rolled her eyes, but still wasn’t looking up from her phone.

“Any news?” Sansa glanced at her friend again before turning back to the road. She was driving halfway across town for her, the least Margaery could do was look at her.

“No,” It was a drawling word, groaned out and sustained, but it was still unconvincing. There was always something going on, some gossip to share, and she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off her phone for the last few minutes. Sansa sighed.

They had argued last week about Margaery keeping something from her. It had escalated enough that even Joffrey had gotten involved, told her to back off. And then on Sunday Marge had acted as though everything was normal and she hadn’t called Sansa a needy bitch begging for scraps. Sansa had done her best to smile and act normally, and when Marge had gotten her acceptance letter from King’s Landing University, she was happy about that too.  
But Margaery still hadn’t told her what was going on and that worried Sansa.

The last time she kept secrets it had been because she was dating a college guy and sneaking out to see him. It had only come out when Mrs Tyrell had turned up at the Stark house ranting about how irresponsible Sansa’s parents were for letting the girls stay out so late on a weekday. It had taken an hour to calm her down but only twenty minutes to work out that Margaery had lied and Sansa was still straight-laced and exceptional.

She was beginning to suspect that it would take more than a white lie to break the secrets apart this time.

“Are you sure you just want to be dropped here?” Sansa frowned at the road ahead of her, gleaming at her from the sun’s reflection on the rainy surface.

They were miles from Margaery’s house, halfway to downtown. She had insisted that her cousin lived around here, but Sansa wasn’t so sure. She had pulled the cousin trick before, when she was seeing that guy. It was always a cousin’s birthday, or a cousin needed babysitting. Truth be told, Sansa wasn’t sure how many Tyrells there were, so she couldn’t ever quite call her friend out for lying, but there was something about this place that even Sansa knew couldn’t be a genuine Tyrell-cousin-emergency.

There were no picket fences and not a single Stepford wife in sight, to begin with.

“Yeah, over there is fine.” Margaery didn’t stop smirking at her phone to see where they were, and Sansa took some comfort in that – her friend trusted her at least. She pulled the car up against a curb and put it in park.

“Marg, if there’s something going on-”

“There isn’t.” She cut her off, locking her phone and sliding it into her pocket before looking up. She blinked in surprise before speaking, “Oh darling! Don’t be upset! I’m fine, _honestly._ ” She took her hand and patted it twice. “Thanks for the ride. See you at school.”

Her soft hand slipped away from Sansa’s as she span elegantly from her seat.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” The enthusiasm in Sansa’s voice sounded false, even to her, and she wasn’t too sure why she had even tried. Margaery had already slammed the door shut.

Sansa took a deep breath. Just because her friend was hiding something from her, didn’t mean she hated her. Maybe she was in danger, maybe it was another college guy, but it probably wasn’t anything to do with Sansa. She took a minute, squinting at the bright sky and doing her best not to think too hard.

She jumped when her phone rang, and then she laughed at herself. It was probably just Joffrey, he hadn’t called her yet today. What was there to be jumpy about?

But the photo on her phone wasn’t of Joff looking cute in his wrestling jersey, it was her dad smiling up at her from quadbike he’d rented in the summer. The boys had gone mad for it – Arya too – but Sansa had only been willing to ride with their dad, and even then only for a couple of minutes. But she’d snapped a picture because he hadn’t looked so care-free in a long time.

“Hello?”

“Hiya Lovebug, it’s me.”

“Hi dad, are you okay?”

“’Course I am, always okay, me. Just wondering what time you’ll be home.” Her dad still had his Northern accent despite living down south for over twenty years, but it was one of the things Sansa loved most about him. He had no trouble belonging, even if he was a little different.

“Oh,” Sansa glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It wasn’t that much later than she normally got home. “In about twenty minutes, I think. Why? Am I late for something? I don’t have to pick Rickon up again, do I?” She groaned. He had stank out the car when she fetched him from soccer on Saturday.

“No, no, he’s here. It’s just your brother’s got a friend over for dinner, so your mum’s keen to get it on the table sharpish.”

“Okay, well I won’t be long,” She sounded more defensive than she meant to, but really that could only be a good thing. Someone would still probably make some sort of comment when she got in.

“I know, I know, I just wanted to warn you ahead of time,”

The rise in her dad’s voice made guilt bubble up in her belly. He sounded like he was preparing for a tantrum.

Sansa sighed. Truth was it was probably safer to tell her before-hand that someone was coming for dinner. Since Saturday she had gotten that twisting feeling in her gut every time she was around her family, and if she had come home expecting to be able to take her dinner upstairs and not interact, then she would have felt blindsided, and completely resented some poor boy.

“Right, thanks dad,” she sighed, “I won’t be long.”

“Okay, love. Oh, and Theon’s here tonight as well, just so you’re prepared for more of his anecdotes,”

She could almost hear him rolling his eyes, and she laughed before she could help herself.

“Oh dear, maybe I won’t be home tonight after all – there can’t be any good stories left about working in a Burger King.”

“Oh, I don’t know, there was that one – Oh, hang on love,” there were voices in the background and the dad-induced glow was subsiding. She knew he loved her, but not even her dad seemed to have enough time for her these days.

“Sorry, Lovebug, I better go. Robert’s called round to drop something off. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Right. Love you.”

“You too.”

The line went dead and she set her phone down on the passenger seat. She didn’t want to believe that Joff was right, but none of them _did_ seem that interested in her at the minute. Even her dad couldn’t finish a conversation about Theon’s stupid stories. And she knew he was busy, lawyers normally are, but she wished his job gave him more time with them. He at least was sorry for the distance, she thought. Goodness knows the others weren’t. They were caught up in whatever drama they usually busied themselves with. Nobody really noticed her.

She flicked the radio on and pulled away from the curb. At least Joffrey paid attention to her. He was always there.

-.*.-.*.-

 

The boy was here again. Sitting there, bold as brass, nibbling at the chicken and blushing at the silent looks. Robb had explained, and Jon had filled in the gaps, about why he had to be there. And Rickon understood – he did, truly – but he still didn’t like the way the boy looked at their sister. Sisters. Rickon corrected himself. There was something in his expression when he looked at Arya that changed when he glanced over at Sansa, still soft, but flipping between affectionate and protective, to slightly scared.

If Robb hadn’t told him that Gendry was meant to draw Sansa’s eye, Rickon would have guessed he was Jon’s friend trying to get to know Arya. Which is the story they told their parents. Well, half of it anyway. They knew he was Jon’s friend, and Rickon would have bet his left ass-cheek that they had noticed the looks between him and Arya. Gods knew Sansa had. She was watching them with narrowed eyes and a half-smile, like she was in on the secret. Ha!

Rickon tried not to feel too smug at that – only a select few had been let into the plan, and he was now among their number.

He had gotten it out of them on Saturday when he was at peak spy-master. Robb had complained and Jon had tutted, but Rickon had stood close enough that the soccer-stink got to them and they spilled everything. Gendry was gunning for Sansa, their final attempt to drag her away from her twat of a boyfriend. They had met, they had spoken, seeds had been planted, and now the plan was onto phase two. They were calling in the big guns.

Or at least, that was how Rickon was thinking of it. In his mind they all had sunglasses and suave smiles already, sipping on milkshakes at the bar in Mott’s, having watched Sansa punch Joffrey in the face. Or the balls. Or anywhere really, nowhere should be off-limits where that little brat was concerned.

But there were a few steps before that.

Namely, dinner.

Robb was looking pleased with himself, and Arya was trying not to blush too much, so it looked like it was only Jon who Rickon could count on. Had he noticed? Had he seen how uncomfortable Gendry was?

No, he was not looking at all. He was talking to Theon about something less-important than their sister’s life-long happiness. Pah. Theon wasn’t even in on the plan. Stupid Theon, distracting the Team mid-mission.

“Looking forward to the game?” Rickon asked Gendry. He flinched slightly, blinking in surprise at being addressed directly. The adults at the end of the table were caught in their own conversation, and Sansa was paying close attention to her potatoes, so maybe it really was just Rickon chatting for the sake of it?

“Uh – sure – I mean, it’s the first one of the season, so it’s always a bit nerve-wracking, but I reckon it’ll be alright. You coming to watch?”

“Sure.”

“Really?” Sansa turned to him in surprise. “You hate football.”

“Well yeah, it’s totally inferior to soccer. I don’t mind the snacks though.”

“And by snacks do you mean ogling the cheerleaders?” Arya asked, teasing.

Sansa sighed and her face twisted nastily, eyes rolling. “They’re my friends Rick, can you be less gross please?"

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about cheerleaders! Did I Gen?”

“Huh? Oh – er- no, that was- that was – er-” he nodded at Arya without looking at her, almost as though in his embarrassment he had lost all control of his neck. Paralysed by awkwardness.

“Yeah! As a joke! Honestly Sansa!”

Sansa opened her mouth and Rickon was ready for sister-spat at the table. He sighed and slipped down in his seat, hoping to avoid being hit by the verbal debris.

But, before Sansa could say anything, Gendry spoke up.

“In fairness, the cheerleaders get a hard time of things. They work about as hard as the team does and then nobody takes them seriously.”

“Thank you Gendry.” Sansa said stiffly. She speared a piece of broccoli and threw a withering look at Arya who looked like she was almost shaking with the effort of not answering back.

“S’alright. Sometimes banter skips over important bits and isn’t fun for everyone.” It was a strange thing to say, Rickon felt, but Gendry didn’t seem to notice the frowns and looks of confusion coming from the others.

Arya wrinkled her nose and scoffed, “So, what you’re saying is ‘words can hurt’?”

Gendry didn’t even flinch, and Rickon couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed,

“I get the feeling this is news to you.” Gendry said sardonically.

“Shut up.” Arya rolled her eyes, blushing.

Rickon watched Sansa watching the two of them. There was something brewing in that head. Something that might interfere with The Plan. Rickon felt something click in his brain and he span quickly, looking to his brothers. Robb was mid-chicken, and Bran was still just a clueless civilian, but Jon – Jon would know what to do. He met his eyes and Rickon gestured to Sansa, perhaps a little frantically, but this was important. Jon met his eyes and shook his head. Rickon sighed. He was alone on this one, out in the cold. He would have to deal with Sansa’s bright ideas all on his own.

“Are you okay, Rick?” Arya’s voice called him back to the present. She was looking at him, her face the picture of concern.

Rickon did his best to smile, but she obviously wasn’t buying it. Gendry was talking to Sansa about football now - or something equally terrible judging by the glaze over Sansa’s eyes – so Rickon felt he was safe to signal to his sister.

“All will be well,”

“You’re such a strange child.”

-.*.-.*.-

 

It was strange being around such a functioning family. Not a normal family by any stretch of the imagination, but one where you could argue with your brother and chat with your dad and then carry on eating together. No plates thrown at walls, no blackmail, no threats. It wasn’t peaceful exactly, but there was harmony.  
Gendry watched, feeling a little guilty that he was here under false pretences. But then, there was no way he would ever belong here. This was too good for Gendry Waters and they all knew it, surely.

He cut his chicken carefully, doing his best not to press the knife too hard onto the china. The last thing he wanted was to leave a mark.

He didn’t mind a bit of family meddling when it was just the children, but when Ned and Catelyn Stark had welcomed him into their home with smiles and freshly squeezed orange juice something had twinged inside him. This couldn’t be right.

They were nice. They cared about their children. They knew all their names and probably remembered all of their birthdays. They had inside jokes and went fishing on the weekends. They must know how wretched Joffrey was. They couldn’t be blind to his influence on Sansa. So why were Robb and Jon so insistent that they alone could defend their sister? Didn’t that suggest Ned and Catelyn weren’t doing as good a job as they seemed? Wasn’t it throwing that welcome, that kindness and care back in their faces? Gendry put his fork down. He might as well have thrown that freshly-squeezed orange juice in their faces. By going along with Robb’s plan he was saying he didn’t trust the Starks as parents.

Gendry knew bad parents. His own for a start. Well, his dad anyway. And _he_ was miles off this idyllic scene.

He could talk to Sansa. He could go shopping with Arya, and chat movies with Jon, but he couldn’t sit in the Stark home and call Mr. and Mrs. Stark bad parents.

Gendry swallowed his mouthful of potatoes and turned to Jon. A bad stomach. That would be enough. Nobody could prove that you weren’t about to vomit. And Jon wouldn’t force him to stay if he said he had to leave.

“-and Robert was out by the end of the day. Nasty business.”

“But then Cersei always could be nasty if she wanted to.”

“Yeah, that’s why I offered Robert the guesthouse last Christmas, if and when he needed it. It’s been coming to an end for a while.”

Gendry felt the potatoes rising. There was a brick in his stomach, and it was pushing everything else away. It had settled and he was frozen, caught like a fish in a net. He knew there was a reason he had always kept a distance from the Starks.

-.*.-.*.-

 

“Do you still have time to go fishing on the weekend, dad?”

Even though Jon was their cousin, for as long as Arya could remember dad had been his dad too. It wasn’t something he thought too much about, but the look on Gendry’s face made him all too aware of how weird the Starks might be to an outsider.

“Ah, sorry, bud, I can’t. I’ve got to do some work for Robert, he’s having a bit of a rough time of it.”

“The ex-wife still all guns blazing?” Theon laughed, as though it was all some big joke and not the end of a decade long marriage.

“Cersei is going for everything she can get, the awful woman.” Catelyn muttered.

Sansa stiffened, and curiously so did Gendry. Arya glanced at him. He looked a little pale, but his eyes were fixed on Arya’s dad, listening intently.

“Let’s leave the judgements for the courtroom,” Ned said fairly “it’s been a hard road for them all I think.”

“Yeah, but now Uncle Robert’s free and we don’t have to see that bitch anymore.” Arya rolled her eyes, surely not the only person at the table grateful to see the back of the ice-queen.

“Arya!” Sansa’s ears had turned pink, “She’s still Joff’s mom!”

“Exactly,” Arya scoffed before could stop herself, “She’s where he gets it from.”

“Gets _what_ from exactly?”

Arya opened her mouth, but their mother was quicker.

“Arya, Sansa, we don’t talk about people like that behind their backs. You sort out problems to their face or you don’t say a word.”

“Mom! You were _just_ bitching about her, why are you yelling at _us_?”

“Language Arya.” Ned warned, turning so Catelyn couldn’t see his wink.

Arya guffawed and stuffed a potato in her mouth. She was right and yet she was still being punished. She glanced down the table and saw every eye averted. Even Gendry was staring down at his plate. Wonderful.

-.*.-.*.-

 

Everything was going swimmingly. Admirably. Perfectly according to plan.

Dinner was excellent – Mom’s roast chicken - and Theon had joined them, making Gendry’s place at the table less conspicuous. Jon and Arya sat on either side of him, and Sansa was directly opposite. Perfect. Robb couldn’t have sorted it better if he had tried. Which he had, but nobody seemed to notice.  
Which is as it should be, he reminded himself.  
Secrecy and stealth and all that. It was easy running this plan, a breeze. An elbow in Arya’s side and a pointed look at Jon and everything lined up exactly as they needed it to. Even Rickon was keeping quiet. He hadn’t said much since Sunday, but Robb was confident he could be counted on when the time came.

In truth he wouldn’t have told their baby brother about any of this until after the fact, if at all, but he had stood there in his soccer kit with suspicion all over his face and it had been obvious. He had worked it out. So Robb told him enough to keep him quiet, and gave him a job. Family-Smoother-over-er. Make sure that Gendry slipped into the family seamlessly. Arya liked him, Jon was a fan, it couldn’t be long before Sansa saw the good in him. No, Robb thought, watching Sansa pass the gravy, her scowl lessening for a second. Not long now.

-.*.-.*.-

 

It had been too long. It was eight thirty and Sansa was staring at her bedroom ceiling wondering if her phone was broken or just her trust.

Fuck, much more of these dramatics and she might as well join the fricking show choir.

She sat up, not caring if she scattered her throw pillows all across the floor. They were pointless accessories anyway. Much like a boyfriend who never called you back.

He had kissed her goodbye at three thirty in the school parking lot, and said he would talk to her later. That meant talking on the phone because mid-week dates had been suspended during the school year by Overlord Stark.  
Her mom was just worried about their grades, but since Sansa was the only one with a solid partner, she couldn’t help but feel victimised. The irony was that she spent far more time wondering where her boyfriend was and why he wasn’t calling now than she ever did in the summer.

She sighed. Her school bag sat looking at her. She had a paper to write and Margaery had spent all week crowing about her success, and acceptance letter, so Sansa _was_ extra-motivated to write it, but nothing in her was willing to move towards it.  
There were voices downstairs. Maybe Uncle Robert had come over again to ask Dad for help with the divorce. Maybe that was why Joff hadn’t called. She could slip downstairs and see him and casually ask if everything was alright? Sansa sighed again. She was sighing a lot these days. Convoluted plans and slipping about just to enter into the periphery of someone’s mind. These were things she thought would disappear when she finally made it to a solid relationship. She shouldn’t have to plot ways to speak to her boyfriend’s dad just to find out if Joff was thinking about her.

She was hurting, and she was lonely, but she refused to be pathetic.

She shook herself and stood up, hoisting her bag up onto her desk and spilling her books out. She had to do better than Margaery. Her friend was clever, but she was also awful. Awful people didn’t deserve to win, so Sansa would do better and get offers from better universities and then she would be the one sneaking off to very important things she couldn’t possibly tell anyone about. And then maybe Joffrey would realise what he was missing.

But first, she thought, staring down at the blank page in front of her, she would make a cup of tea.

-.*.-.*.-

The boy was still here. _Gendry_ , not ‘the boy’, that was rude. But wasn’t it ruder to still be in her house, taking up her kitchen? She tried not to huff as she walked past him.

“Um-” he began.

 _No, don’t speak to me,_ Sansa thought, _I just want to make a cup of tea in peace, please don’t talk to me, take the hint-_

“-er – are you okay?”

_Fuck._

“No,” she closed the cutlery drawer and turned toward the kettle.

“Oh,” he sounded – she didn’t care how he sounded, she wasn’t his mother, his friend, his keeper. Let him be sad. She wasn’t so pathetic that she cared about every sad creature to cross her path.

“Okay. I-er – I’m on hot chocolate duty, do you want one?”

Well that was unexpected.

She turned and frowned at him.

“Do I want one?”

His hands were in his pockets and he was shuffling nervously. The frown was working. She added a touch of glare, and hoped he would take the hint.

“Hot chocolate.” He mumbled, holding up a tub of chocolate powder. There was a pan of milk on the stove bubbling and cinnamon on the counter next to it. Cinnamon Hot Chocolate. Was Arya somewhere round here?

The thought of her sister triggered something in Sansa that she couldn’t quite explain and suddenly she wasn’t putting on a show, trying to dissuade conversation. She was pissed and wanted to be ten years older living alone with no siblings and no friends-of-siblings cluttering up her kitchen.

“Do I want a hot chocolate? A cup of sugary shit? Do I look like I want a fricking hot chocolate?”

If he was taken aback he didn’t show it. He looked at her, slightly longer than she felt appropriate, and then shrugged. Just shrugged. The fucker looked at her, pissed and ready to pounce, and all he did was shrug. Asshole.

“Not really.”

He turned to the saucepan and stirred a wooden spoon through the milk, skimming the goopy skin off the top. He started scooping chocolate powder into it, spoons heaped to Arya levels of sugar.

“No, of course I don’t, dumbass.” Sansa muttered at his back, turning again to the kettle, watching it boil. She didn’t hear him come up behind her, and jumped when he spoke,

“Right. Well do you mind shifting over? I need to grab the mugs.”

She moved aside without a word and hovered on the other side of the kitchen table.

He was a lot taller than her. Like, a lot a lot. Joff only came up to her nose. He had nice arms too. He smelt like chocolate powder and laundry detergent. Nothing fancy, none of that teenage deodorant shit. God, she hated men’s cologne.

He had a tray full of mugs and she counted out her entire family before realising that the sinking in her stomach was regret. She shouldn’t have snapped at him.

“I’m sorry,” She murmured as he walked past her. He paused at the door, and nodded, but he didn’t turn around to look at her.

She turned back to her mug and found the teabag bobbing happily in a full cup of hot water. Something twisted inside her and she smiled to herself.

Gendry.

Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! So much love to you. If you can, pop a little comment in and let me know what you think of things. How are we feeling about Rickon getting in on the plan? And Margaery and her secrets? I'm hoping it'll be satisfying when it all comes out! 
> 
> I hope you are all keeping safe. If you're an key worker, thank you so much for everything, you're all heroes.  
> If you're not, then thank you for staying at home!  
> How are you entertaining yourselves in these quarantimes? I'm stuck in Italy teaching online waiting for my contract to end so I can go back to the UK, spending my weekends writing in the sunshine and trying not to go crazy. I'm very lucky. I hope you're finding your way through things too.  
> All my love.  
> xoxoxo


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